


Master of Death

by esama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes another option in the King's Cross Station, and changes the course of a world</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King's Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2010

Silence fell between the former Headmaster of Hogwarts and Harry as the teen contemplated the words Dumbledore had spoken. It was strangely relieving to know all this, to have it clarified. Not only about Voldemort and Harry's own existence and life, but about Dumbledore and Grindelwald and the Hallows. Somehow it felt like he had known it all along and yet it was soothing to have someone speak it all out loud. Even if it was all in his head.

But the idea of going back… it wasn't as soothing. He knew he could go back, now, or he could go on, if he so chose. Going back he could possibly save the world some pain and lives. He could end Voldemort's reign of terror, possibly that very same night. He could… but did he want to?

He had chosen death. He had welcomed it with open arms. According to Dumbledore that was a sign of a true master of the Deathly Hallows… and yet now he could go back, to life? But wait… the Hallows… the Elder Wand.

"You meant the Elder Wand to go to Snape," Harry said slowly, repeating his earlier words. "But that didn't work out the way you planned."

Dumbledore said nothing, merely looked at him curiously.

"It didn't work the way you wanted it to, because… because Draco Malfoy disarmed you before Snape used the Killing curse," Harry continued, his eyes widening as realisation came to him. "Draco Malfoy disarmed you. Draco Malfoy… beat you. It wasn't a duel maybe, but he disarmed you. _He_ was the master of the Elder Wand."

"I suppose he was," Dumbledore agreed with a solemn nod. "Without ever knowing he has held the power Voldemort so craved."

Harry looked up, barely registering the words. "And _I_ disarmed him," he said slowly.

"That you did," the old man smiled. "You are truly the master of all three Hallows right now, Harry. The Cloak which you inherited, the Stone which I gave to you, and the Wand which you mastered when you disarmed Draco Malfoy. They are all yours now. Even if Voldemort has the Elder Wand, it will not work properly for him unless he beats you first."

"But he did kill me," Harry said with a frown.

"Did he, really?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Did Severus kill me, really? With the wisdom of hindsight, I now wonder if he would have become the master of the Elder Wand even if Draco Malfoy had not disarmed me first. I  don’t know if a planned death, even in the hands of another, is truly a defeat or if it is an unconventional victory."

"I am the master of the Elder Wand then?" the teen asked to make sure. "And the others too, I'm master of all three Hallows…" the wheels were turning in his head rapidly. "What will happen to them if I go on? Who will be master of the Hallows then?"

Dumbledore frowned. It seemed that he had not considered this before. "I… am not certain," he said slowly. "Their magic is unlike any other. It is possible that they will be left without a master until someone claims them, or that… that they will lose their powers along with their master."

The old man looked at the teen. "The Hallows have never been unified under one master, Harry. Though many, myself included, have dreamed of such an event, it has never occurred. So there is no telling what sort of power you could wield over them," he spent a moment in thought. "I think… yes, I think it is very possible that should you chose so, you could take their power away with your death."

Harry nodded. He had thought so. If he were die now, if he went on and chose to take the Hallows with him, the Elder Wand would turn dead in Voldemort's fingers. It would either turn into a wand like any other or it would simply lose all of its power. Maybe it would even be destroyed.

And without it, without the Death Stick… Voldemort would not be as powerful as he had once been, would he? Most of the Horcruxes were gone, Harry himself included, all that was left was the snake and Voldemort himself. Hermione and Ron, or possibly Neville, would take care of the snake. And then Voldemort would be like any other man. He would be able to die like any other man.

 _'I don't need to go back,'_ Harry thought, somehow relieved by the idea.

The thing he had found he was most afraid of in the war, was the peace that would follow. Harry had never known such a thing. Even at the Dursleys there hadn't been peace for him, and he had started feeling the approaching war the moment he had stepped into the magical world. There had never been peace, not a true one, whilst he had been there.

How could someone like him, after a history like that, get adjusted to peace? Or would his life be an endless spiral of fighting? He could become an Auror and spend the rest of his life combating dark forces and fighting dark wizards. What sort of life was that? No, he thought, thinking back to his sixth year and the paranoia momentary peace had brought to him. Even if he had been right about his obsession over Draco Malfoy's dark doings, he couldn't live like that. No, he wasn't fit for peace and he didn't have the energy to fight forever.

He wanted to go on. He wanted it over. He wanted to go to where his parents were, where Sirius, Remus and Tonks were alive, and he wanted to embrace them.

"I will go on," Harry decided finally, sparing a kind thought for Ginny but knowing she would find another to love. He spared anther for Hermione and Ron but knew that they would have each other. People would miss him, but they would go on without him. "I will take the power of the Hallows if I can, and I will go on."

Dumbledore nodded his head with sad agreement. "That is your choice," he said and stood with Harry who was now looking forward to the train tracks. He could hear a train approaching. "And after the life you have lived no one can disparage you for wanting peace."

Harry nodded and then turned to look behind them where the wounded, mutilated baby still lay underneath the bench helplessly whimpering. "I can't help it," Harry echoed Dumbledore's earlier words before steeling himself and walking towards the creature. "But I can take it with me. I can give it peace."

Dumbledore said nothing. Swallowing his dread and nervousness, Harry kneeled beside the bench. Then he hesitated, not wanting to touch the wounded creature with his bare hands. Just like before, when his robes had appeared from his wish, a velvety cloth appeared from nothing to his hands. With a sigh of relief, Harry wrapped the cloth around the wounded child and then carefully gathered it in his arms. It whimpered once, red eyes peaking up from its deformed face, and then, finally, fell silent.

When Harry stood up, Dumbledore was gone. Glancing left and right, the youth sighed and pulled the mutilated creature closer. Now that he was holding it, he found that he didn't have the heart to let it go again. "Well then," he murmured to the creature with a sad smile. "I'm sorry that the one time someone picks you up is only to take you from this world. Oh well… Let's go."

He stepped closer to the clean, almost completely white train. To his shock, the baby in his arms seemed less mutilated as he did, so he took another step. Again the child seemed to heal a little, the open wounds closing a little bit. With each step it happened again and when Harry was finally at the train's doors… the baby was no longer mutilated at all, but instead it was completely healed -- a little dirty, but undamaged. And when Harry stepped inside to the empty train, the baby's eyes turned from red into dark green, the pupils no longer slits.

Harry sat down with the child. The doors closed and with a slightest jerk, the train began to move. Smiling down at the child, the youth pulled back the black velvet a little, and gently brushed some of the dirt from the baby's face. The child seemed a little afraid, but was no longer in agony. "We'll be alright, Tom," Harry murmured instinctively, his fingers passing gently over the child's hairless head. "We'll be alright. No need to be afraid."

The child cooed and calmed down. Not much after, the gentle rocking of the train seemed to lull him to sleep. Harry smiled again, rearranging the cloth around him gently and then looking up.

To his surprise he wasn't alone. A man in the dark uniform of a conductor was standing before him, holding up a clipboard. "Good evening," the man spoke to a surprised Harry, "and welcome to the Reality Express, Mr. Potter, Mr. Riddle. Anything you wish you will get, just wish it and it will be so," he said, reminding Harry of Stan Shunpike slightly. "Now, what is your chosen world, and point of arrival?"

Harry blinked with confusion. "E-excuse me?" he asked.

"What is your chosen world and point of arrival?" the man asked and smiled slightly. "Where do you want to go in which world?" he clarified.

"I… I thought this was the train to… well, onward," Harry said carefully. "It doesn't go to, well, death?"

"No, that would be the Death Express, that one goes to _on_ as you say. This one is the train that travels through the void between realities and goes to other worlds," the conductor answered almost cheerfully. "So, is there a world you would wish to go? It's a one-time opportunity; you won't get this chance again, so choose well."

Harry stared at the man for a long while speechlessly and then leaned forward. "What does it mean, other worlds?" he asked slowly, his hands tightening around the child in his arms. "Like other planets?"

"No, other Earths. There are hundreds of thousands if not hundreds of millions of different realities in existence, hundreds of millions of Earths. And more are created every moment," the conductor said thoughtfully. "See, a reality, or as it usually is, multiple realities are created whenever a choice is made. The universe demands to see all the outcomes of this choice, and thus all of the outcomes exist in separate realities, completely unaware of each other but still just as real as each other. And it's like that with every choice and people choose a lot during their lives."

The boy stared at the black clad conductor for a moment in shock. "You mean to say that out there is a reality where, I don't know… Tom Riddle never chose to become Voldemort?" he asked, looking down to the sleeping baby.

"Not just one, I suspect there are thousands and thousands of them," the conductor said with a nod. "The decision was made a long ago, after all."

"And there are realities where I chose to go back to living instead boarding this train?" Harry asked.

"Few hundreds already, yes," the conductor agreed. "I'm afraid to say that you are already, permanently, dead in some of them, but I suspect you will triumph over this Voldemort fellow of yours in most realities where you chose otherwise," he looked down the clipboard. "And when you make a choice about which world to go, I suspect more realities will be born where you chose otherwise, as is the nature of the universe and all."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling a bit bewildered and suddenly wishing that he had Hermione there, explaining this whole thing. He’d thought that time was linear, a single line that couldn't be affected, especially after his third year, but apparently he had been wrong. "So, there are these worlds and… I could go to them?"

"Just to one of them, I'm afraid. It is a one-time offer after all," the conductor smiled apologetically. When he realised that Harry didn't know what to say to that, his smile softened. "How about we try narrowing down your preferences? Usually in these cases people prefer to go to realities different from the ones they lived in so… what sort of differences between your reality and the one you're going to are you looking for?"

Differences? "Like things which went a certain way in my world that I would've preferred to go otherwise?" Harry asked and the conductor nodded. "Alright. Is there one where Albus Dumbledore didn't die in the year nineteen-ninety-seven?"

"Oh yes, quite a few in fact," the conductor nodded, looking at him with an amused smile. "You might wish to narrow it down a bit more."

Harry frowned and thought about it. "My parents… and Sirius…" he murmured and frowned. "I want a reality where Albus Dumbledore, Lily and James Potter and Sirius Black are all alive."

The conductor nodded and then frowned a little. "Hm… there are a handful of realities where your First War against Voldemort never ended in nineteen-eighty-one," he said. "Some of those realities are quite ghastly. In a few Voldemort did die, in those realities Neville Longbottom has a tendency of inhabiting your space in Destiny, I'm afraid…"

"There are realities where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry asked slowly.

"Quite a few, yes," the conductor nodded. "Would you wish to go to one of them? Or do you wish to continue narrowing your choice down, still?"

Harry thought about it. If he understood this right, the options were pretty much limitless and he could go to any sort of world possible. But what would he do in such a world? If the world already had a Boy-Who-Lived, then he wouldn't have any duty to perform there -- he'd be free to do whatever he wanted. But he also wouldn't know anyone there, he wouldn't have any friends or a life. And he had already realised that peace wasn't something he could handle.

On its own, Harry's gaze drifted to the sleeping baby. "What will happen to Tom?" he asked, looking up at the conductor. "If I go to some other world, what will happen to him?"

"Well, he's with you, so I think it's safe bet to say that he's going where ever you're going," the conductor raised his eyebrows. "Unless you'd wish leave him here…" he seemed disapproving of the thought.

"No… no," Harry said. "I'll take him with me. Except…" he frowned with slight worry. "Is he whole? Or is he… sick, like Voldemort is?"

"Well… how whole can you be when you are a mere shard of a soul?" the conductor asked somewhat sadly. "He’s not like you think, though. He is unintentional. Knowledge maintained by the other pieces was never passed on to this one. So, I guess… there is still hope for him."

"Would he grow up right?" Harry asked. "Or will he be like Tom Riddle, evil from birth?"

The conductor shrugged. "People are the choices they make, and, sometimes, the choices made for them," he simply said and lifted his clipboard again. "Will you be taking Mr. Riddle with you then, Mr. Potter?"

The teen was quiet for a long while before finally nodding. "Yes. Yes I think I will," he said. "I want to go to a world where Dumbledore, my parents and my godfather are alive. Oh, and Severus Snape and Cedric Diggory too. And Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody -- and everyone else who was killed in the second war in my world."

"Do you want a peaceful world?" the conductor asked worriedly. "Because with these criteria the options are rather limited -- and if you wish to join the Wizarding World of your new reality, I must warn you. Magicians have a tendency of going into some sort of conflict every now and then. Human nature and all…"

"No, I don't care for peace," Harry said and frowned, his eyes trailing back to Tom. A war time was no time for infants. "But I guess it could be pretty bad for Tom if there was outright war in the new reality. I suppose it would be hard to take care of a baby while fighting a war, so…"

"That's understandable," the conductor nodded. "It will require some tweaking with the engines, but I think we can do it," he nodded. "This has narrowed the possibilities down to one, as well. Now then, do you have any particular platform in mind? King's Cross perhaps or the Hogsmeade Station? I believe you are familiar with those ones…"

"King's Cross will do," Harry nodded.

The conductor nodded with satisfaction. "Very well. We should arrive in two hours’ time," he said. "Feel free to wish some refreshments in the mean while. I'll come around to inform you about our arrival when we are getting close."

"Okay, thank you," Harry nodded. With a nod of his own, the conductor turned to leave but before he could Harry spoke out, remembering his talk with Dumbledore earlier. "The Deathly Hallow," he said. "Can I, uh… make sure that they don't work back in, er," he motioned towards the direction the train was coming from, "in my world? Whence I came. Can I make sure they don't work there anymore?"

"Of course. Just wish them here," the conductor said. "They will follow their master."

"And the things wished here, I can take them to the other world?"

"Just because a thing was wished into existence, it doesn't make its existence somehow less real than the things that are manually created."

"That helps loads, thank you," Harry nodded with slight relief and watched as the man left. After that he spend a moment in silence, just digesting what was happening and what he needed to do. This wasn't what he’d planned but… maybe he could have something in the new world that he hadn't gotten in the old one.

"This makes me feel a bit selfish though," Harry murmured to the sleeping Tom Riddle. "I left my world in the midst of war, my friends… I left them in war. Well, I thought I'd die, I thought we'd both die, but…" He hadn't even asked if he could go back. And he wasn't going to either.

 After another moment of silence, feeling a bit apprehensive but knowing that he had to do it, Harry turned his thoughts to the Deathly Hallows and wished very much that they would be with him. That the Elder Wand would just vanish from Voldemort's fingers and appear in his. That the Invisibility Cloak would be in his pocket once more. That the Resurrection Stone he had dropped would once more be on his finger.

And there they were, his inner pocket swelling with the Cloak, the Peverell ring appearing right onto his middle finger and the wand suddenly materialising right into his hand. The Deathly Hallows, all three, in his possession. After all that had been said about them -- after how Harry himself had, at one time, longed for the wand, they brought him little happiness. The exception was, perhaps, the cloak. It was a relief to have it on his person again.

"The Elder Wand, huh," Harry mused eyeing the fancy, knobby piece of light shaded wood. He had, once upon a time, seen Dumbledore wield it and then he had seen it in Voldemort's hands. It was strange to be holding it himself, knowing the wand's dark history and its alleged power. Power which couldn't exist just in rumours, with so many great wizards running after it.

Harry would keep the wand. He somehow knew that trying to destroy it would be impossible. So he would keep it instead, avoiding any unnecessary displays of power and treating the wand just like it was his own. His own, broken… Before Harry knew it, he was longing to have his own wand with him, the holly wand with Phoenix feather, the wand that had saved his life so many times, the wand Hermione had broken.

And there it was, the two pieces, still connected by the phoenix feather, falling into his lap. For a long moment Harry stared at them over baby Tom Riddle's sleeping form before, almost as if in trance, pointing the Elder Wand at the pieces. " _Reparo_!" he said and watched with amazement as the wand, though its damage was supposed to have been beyond repair, resealed itself.

A smile split Harry's face. Taking the Peverell ring clumsily off while still keeping Tom in his arms, he tapped the Elder Wand against the broken stone. " _Reparo_!" he said again and grinned as the stone became whole once more. "Alright then," Harry muttered, feeling a bit more confident. "I think we’ll be alright, Tom."

With that said, Harry begun wishing for things in earnest.

By the time the two hours were over, Harry had had a change of clothing, young Tom had been clothed and was now sleeping away in a pram, and Harry had several truckloads of various things he thought he'd need shrunken and hidden away in his pockets. The two wands had found a home in holsters, the holly wand's tube holster casually attached to Harry's hip next to a small leather satchel of gold and the Elder Wand concealed in an arm-holster on is left inner arm.

"I see you have made some preparations, Mr. Potter," The conductor said while walking towards him once more. "Very wise of you. Though, if I may suggest it, you might want to consider a change of identity for yourself and young Mr. Riddle."

"Change our identities?" Harry asked with surprise and then gasped. "The world I'm going to already has a Harry Potter and a Tom Riddle?"

"Well… in a manner of speaking. Either way, people know of both Harry Potter and Tom Riddle and possessing those names might make your stay in your new world not as peaceful as you seem to hope. In the least, I suggest another last name for you both. And either change or scratch your second names altogether."

"Uhh…" Harry frowned. All the names that came to his mind were the names of other people. His naming skills, apart from Hedwig who had gotten surprisingly good name from him, had always been below the par. When thinking of alias for himself, he had used Neville Longbottom and Vernon Dudley, for Merlin's sake.

"How about Newman?" the conductor suggested after they had spent a moment in silence.

"Newman?" Harry asked with surprise and then thought about it.

"It just seems like a fitting name for you," the conductor said with a smile and shrug. "That is what you will be, is it not?

Newman. It was rather obvious but at the same time it was probably better than anything he could come up with. "Yeah, alright. Harry Newman. Tom Newman. I guess it works. Or maybe Harold Newman and Thomas Newman…" For a moment he thought about second names. "Harold and Thomas Newman will do," he then decided, figuring that it was best not to mangle their names further. He couldn't think of anything fitting anyway.

"Aright then," the conductor said while the train jerked and started to slow down. Reaching out, the man grabbed something out of thin air. "Here's your paperwork then," he said, handing stack of papers to Harry. Half of them were really papers, half were parchments. "Birth certificates and such, you know," the man said. "Can't go around without those you know."

Harry only had the chance to glance at the top one. It was Tom's muggle birth certificate. “Harold Newman” was marked down as “Thomas's” father. Before he could argue against it, the train stopped moving with a soft, somehow sleepy jerk. "Alright then, do you have everything you need? All your luggage and things?" the conductor asked. "Money and such?"

"Yes, yes I have everything," Harry said, hurriedly folding the papers and pushing them into his inner pocked.

"Well then. Thank you for using Reality Express. Feel free to call upon us if you ever find yourself in Limbo again," the conductor said cheerfully while opening the train doors for Harry. "Good luck with your new life in your new world then, Mr. Newman."

"Thanks," Harry said with a nod. Taking hold of the handle of Tom's pram, he nodded to the conductor and made his way out of the train. After stepping down to the dark platform, this one real and physical in the actual King's Cross station, he turned to look at the train. It glowed pure white as it stood there for only a split  moment before fading away and leaving Harry alone with Tom.

Looking around in the nightly platform Harry sighed and looked down to the pram. The baby there continued to sleep undisturbed. "Well then, Tom," the teen muttered. "I guess we're on our own now. How about we make our way to the Leaky Cauldron and see where we can get from there, hm?"

The baby of course had no answer to offer. With a chuckle Harry braced himself for Disapparition, before stopping. One of the many rules of Apparition was not to Apparate with a child under the age of four. Groaning, the youth let the concentration slip. "On second thought, let's see if I can hail the Knight Bus," he muttered, heading towards the station exit, unaware of the _many_ surprises he was going to encounter in the world he had come to.


	2. Leaky Cauldron

 

Though he had been the owner of the place for the better part of ten months, Albert was called _the new bartender_ of the Leaky Cauldron. He had inherited the place from his uncle Tom, the previous owner of the pub who had been killed in a brief battle that had taken place in the Diagon Alley in the last months of the war, trying to save a group of Hogwarts students from getting involved.

To be honest, Albert had considered selling the place when he had inherited it. He’d been running a small muggle restaurant before, not particularly profitable or popular but he’d had enough regular customers and he had liked the work among muggles. Because of that he had figured that it was a bit dangerous for him to take up ownership of the Leaky Cauldron -- as he was a known blood traitor and muggle lover or however they called his sort these days. Not that the Leaky Cauldron wasn't a dangerous place as it was -- it had become somewhat of a target because of its function as the gateway between muggle and magical London. With a muggle lover as the owner, it would've been just a matter of time before the Death Eaters would've sought to destroy it completely.

But then the war had seen it's abrupt end in All Hallow's Eve eight months ago when the Dark Lord had fallen because of a baby. Things had changed so rapidly over night that it had seemed that they had stepped into another era somehow, and perhaps they had. Albert had closed and sold his muggle restaurant and reopened the Leaky Cauldron on the morning of the first of November to see some hundreds of guests going in and out and to hold an on-going celebration that had lasted almost a solid week. He had never been so busy.

In the following months things had changed for the better in many ways. Shops that had been closed down had been opened as more Death Eaters had been rounded up for trials. The idea of those who had managed to get away still made Albert grit his teeth, as did the thought of some of the attacks that had happened after the Dark Lord's fall, but things had still gotten better. Four months after You-Know-Who had fallen, peace was declared and two months later things had started to feel normal again, like they had felt before the war.

Albert had eventually found that he enjoyed keeping the Leaky Cauldron. Though his restaurant had been fun to keep too, the Leaky Cauldron had more customers and the customers were certainly more interesting. You didn't see hags or dwarves or vampires in muggle places after all. Albert had made some changes to the place, of course. After getting used to the strict cleanness that was demanded from a muggle restaurant, the Leaky Cauldron was dirty, dusty and full of grime in his eyes. It took him weeks to clean it up enough to suit his taste. But in the end, he liked the place as it was.

It had taken some time to begin to see what the customers wanted. Some of them came to the Cauldron not just for food or drink or bed, but for conversation and rumours -- often even information. Many witches and wizard, Albert had found, were lonely solitary creatures that found people to talk to only at a pub. Also it seemed that his uncle had had a habit of keeping an eye on things and often he’d known more about the state of affairs than the Daily Prophet. It took a while for Albert to build up a similar network of information his uncle had had.

But, rather often, the customers were there neither for food nor drink nor bed nor conversation. The Leaky Cauldron was first and foremost a meeting place, Albert had found. It had taken a while longer for him to be able to discern the people who were there for some arranged meeting than for the Leaky Cauldron itself. It was usually best not to bother those, some of them tended to be cranky and unfriendly.

All in all there was not a dull day in the place. And sometimes even the nights were far from dull. Albert was just about to close the Leaky Cauldron's muggle exit when another not-dull night approached him in the form of a black haired man in bottle green robes, pushing a pram towards the bar.

"Are you closing?" the man approaching the Leaky Cauldron's door asked with nervous disappointment. "I was hoping to get a room for the night, I only have galleons with me."

"I was about to close but never mind that. Come in, come in," Albert said, quickly stepping out to hold the door open for the man. When the customer came closer, he frowned slightly. He had thought that the man was at least over twenty, considering that he was with a child, but the man was rather young. Too young perhaps for the title of _man_ at all. "Bit late to be walking outside, and with a baby at that, isn't it, sir?"

"Late train, couldn't be helped," the black haired man answered, quickly easing the pram over the threshold. He almost hit the doorframe with it but the baby inside made no sound at it. Quickly Albert helped the man navigate it inside, pushing a nearby chair out of the way. "Thanks," the young man said with a sigh.

"No problem, Mr…?" the bartender eyed the youth curiously.

The youth opened his mouth, hesitated and then sighed and smiled somehow grimly. "Newman, Harry Newman," he said before eyeing him curiously. "Are you new?" he asked and then spoke. "I remember the manager of the Leaky Cauldron being a bit older. Tom, I think his name was."

"He was, ten months ago," Albert answered, realising that this young man was one of the returnees. During the war many witches and wizards left Britain altogether and in the past months they had been returning. This Mr. Harry Newman probably hadn't been in Britain for years. "Tom, my uncle, died at the end of the war. I inherited the bar from him."

"Oh," the spectacled young man looked a bit taken aback by that. "I'm… sorry."

"Never mind, Mr. Newman. You are far from the first to ask after him. My uncle was in charge of the Cauldron for almost sixty years, it's natural that people will miss him," Albert smiled, motioning the young man to follow him to the bar's side. "So, you're looking for a room? Just for the night?"

"Yes, though I might need it for longer. I'll need to stay here, I suppose, until I can buy myself a house," the black haired youth said, pushing the pram inside and towards the counter while Albert went to fetch the books. "How much is it for the room just for one night?"

"Two galleons and five sickles," Albert said and threw the youth a smile and settled the book on the counter. "I imagine you'd want a room on the first floor, given that you're with a pram. We might have a crib too, if you want one," he said, eyeing the baby carriage curiously. "Your brother, Mr. Newman?" he asked, wondering if this youth before him was one of the many people orphaned by the war.

"Ah… no. My son, Tom," the youth gave him a somehow faint grin. "The fruit of one of my rasher decisions."

Albert started a little at that and then shivered. A father, at Mr. Newman's age? Albert himself was well over thirty and he still considered himself too young to have children. "I see," he murmured, and then eyed the stroller. "You will end up attracting lot of attention with that, Mr. Newman," he said nodding towards the muggle creation. "Wizards around here rarely use muggle contraptions, no matter how useful they are."

The youth chuckled while taking his money sack from his hip. "Isn't that pretty much the same with wizards everywhere?" he asked and then, before waiting for an answer. "So, two galleons and five sickles for the room. Would the crib be extra?"

"No, it comes with the price," Albert assured. "Along with a breakfast."

"Excellent," Mr. Newman answered and paid the price. "Before you show me the room though, I'd like something to eat. I didn't remember to have a bite on the train, I was too busy checking my belongings," he snorted softly. "Oh, and if you'd have the day's paper, I'd like to glance over it before going to bed."

"Certainly. Muggle or magical?" Albert asked, making an annotation about the crib to the book before closing it.

"Magical, please. And if you have it, I'd like some butterbeer with the meal. I haven't had a decent butterbeer in what feels like ages."

With a chuckle Albert headed out to fulfil the order. Soon he had some roasted pork and potatoes ready for the late customer along with pint of fresh butterbeer and the day's Daily Prophet. "That would be four sickles, Mr. Newman," he said after setting the food and the paper down before the man.

The youth paid for it with a nod before almost ravenously digging into his dinner. Albert watched with some measure of amusement, wondering how long his train ride had been. Mr. Newman sealed his dinner with a long gulp of butterbeer and sighed in an almost relieved manner. "Much better," he mused contently before reaching for the Daily Prophet and opening it. Then he stopped to stare at the front page with shock.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Newman?" Albert asked curiously while gathering the now empty dishes from the table.

"No… no, just a little mishap with the date," the young man answered, turning the page around to show the date to him. "This is today's paper, right?"

Albert frowned and leaned forward to take a look. "1st of June, 1982. Yeah, that's the right date," he answered. "Why, is there something wrong about it?"

"Ah… no, I suppose not," Newman answered with a somewhat strained smile. "I suppose not."

 

* * *

After eating, Harry asked the Leaky Cauldron's new bartender to take him and Tom to their new room. The room was surprisingly spacious and clean -- the entire Leaky Cauldron was cleaner than Harry remembered it ever being. Soon after leading him in, the bartender levitated the crib in for Tom, along with a pile of fresh bedspreads for the crib.

"The sheets on the bed are, of course, all clean. These days I have them changed after each guest," the man motioned towards the bed. "The bathroom is down the hall, if you need it, I'll put up a table there for you in case you need to tend to your son in the morning."

"Alright, thank you," Harry nodded. With a nod the man turned and left, closing the door in his wake. After checking that the door was locked, Harry sighed and sat down on the bed.

"Fine mess I got us in, don't you think, Tom?" he murmured to the boy who just continued to sleep. The Boy-Who-Lived snorted. Leave it to Voldemort to be a steady sleeper. Though, if he remembered it right from his sixth year and the memories of Tom Riddle's past, he had been a quiet child even as a baby. That, Harry decided, would probably be a blessing to him, as he had little experience with children this small.

Taking the copy of the Daily Prophet, which he had taken with him for night reading, Harry sighed. The first of June, nineteen-eighty-two. That was not what he had expected. He had expected differences, of course, with the criteria he had named there was bound to be some differences… but he had still expected to emerge in the year nineteen-ninety-seven. Instead he had been thrown _fifteen years_ into the past.

"Well, it might end up being an advantage. Especially if this world's wars follow the same patterns as mine did," Harry muttered before deciding that talking out loud about alternate realities wasn't something he should make a habit of. Reaching for the newspaper, he spread it out on the bed and scanned over the front page.

"Minister Bagnold speaks on behalf of released Death Eaters," said one of the headlines. "People still pondering over the wisdom of Igor Karkaroff's release," said another and a third said, "Aberforth Dumbledore convicted of misuse of magic on animals."

It seemed rather similar to what little he knew about the time between his parent's deaths and his arrival at Hogwarts. And the fact that they were reporting something as mundane as Aberforth's misused magic was somewhat a relief – a good sign that they had little of importance to report. Interesting news meant troubled times after all.

For a moment Harry pondered about the true state of affairs. It seemed that there had been a first war against Voldemort here too. And it had ended, possibly in a similar manner as the war in his world. However, how had it ended? Who was the Boy-Who-Lived here, Harry or Neville? Harry hadn't asked about that from the conductor. Nor… had he really specified anything really important. For all he knew Dumbledore could be in Nurmengard along with Grindelwald, his father and mother might be tortured to insanity by Bellatrix, and Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived. And Sirius… Sirius could be in prison.

Those were things he needed to find out. There was a lot for him to do in fact. First and foremost he needed a house and a house-elf with experience -- he didn't dare to trust his own abilities to take care of Tom. Once he had that matter settled, he needed to find information and as much of it as possible. Past Daily Prophets would do, he would need to write a letter to the print and request the papers from the last months -- no, last years. Either that or he would need to find a place where they had copies of past Prophets.

Was there such a thing as a Wizarding public library? It made sense that there would be one, but he’d never heard of such a thing beyond the library of Hogwarts. That couldn't be it. Or if it was then it was a severe fault in the Wizarding world.

Harry shook his head. "First things first," he said, glancing at Tom. Then he turned his attention to the crib that had been situated beside the bed. With a look of determination on his face, he made his way to the crib to arrange the bedspreads before picking Tom up from his pram. Doubting that the baby would like to sleep in the thick clothing he had on now that they were inside the warm inn, Harry gently laid the boy down to the bed before going through his pockets, trying to remember the trunk which was full of things he had wished for Tom.

When he found it from one of his robes four inner pockets, he placed it on the floor and took out his holly wand to reverse then shrinking charm. Immediately the trunk swelled into its proper size, revealing a line of four locks on it. One for clothing, one for baby items like nappies and bottles and such, a third for baby books Harry had wished, knowing he'd need information, and the fourth for toys. Taking out the ring of keys he now had, Harry selected the right key and opened the compartment for Tom's clothing.

Marvelling at the usefulness of the Reality Express, Harry took out white pyjamas which Tom could wear in bed. Then, deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, he opened the book department and took out a book called "Useful spells for new parents -- spells for everything from dirty nappies to bottle formulas."

After locking the trunk again and shrinking it, Harry placed the book on the bedside table before starting to ease the boy out of his clothing. Tom woke up momentarily, making a whine of annoyance and blinking a bit accusingly at him before falling asleep again, just as Harry eased the light green pyjamas on. Smiling slightly, Harry picked him up again and then placed him down in the crib, pulling the thin duvet over him.

Then he dug into the book, looking for two charms. First, something to monitor Tom while he was out of sight. And second, a spell which he supposed would be the most important one in the following months, something to clean up dirty nappies. _Scourgify_ , he imagined, was too rough for a baby.

To his relief, _Tergeo_ worked on nappies but he would need to wash Tom manually if he managed to soil himself -- it was apparently important for the baby's psyche to be tended to by hand rather than by magic. _Tergeo_ , however, wore the nappies out eventually, so they needed to be replaced -- and they needed to be hand washed every now and then because eventually the smell stuck.

The monitoring charm was a bit harder. _Vigilo Liber_ , the most recommended charm of the book, could be only used by the child's actual parents, so Harry couldn't use that. _Specto Parvulus_ Harry could use, but unlike _Vigilo Liber_ , it wouldn't tell him if Tom was hungry or in need of a change and things like that. It would only make him aware of the child as if he was watching him.

Harry sighed and took his wand out again. Reciting the spell in his head and practicing the correct wand movement a few times, he turned to Tom. " _Specto Parvulus_ ," he cast over the boy -- but the spell did nothing. Figuring that it hadn't worked, Harry cast it again, and again until finally… a strange sensation of double vision appeared and vanished. As he turned around to look away, he could still see Tom in a certain way as the boy slept on, one hand curled on his chest and other resting on the thin pillow beside him. He had gotten the spell to work but it would definitely take some getting adjusted to.

With another shudder, Harry stood up, taking the key of his room and headed out, intending to go to the bathroom. All the while he remained aware of Tom and almost ended up walking into the bathroom door frame because of the other sight. Sighing he tried to shake the sensation away while stepping inside and glancing at the bathroom mirror. What he saw there made him frown.

The James Potter of this world was still alive and Harry was always told his much like his father he looked. Also, he had Lily Potter's striking green eyes. That would cause problems, especially since there was another Harry Potter living in this world, another him. He couldn't go around looking like someone's double, even if he was the double of… himself.

Thinking about it while relieving his bladder, Harry wondered if he should change the colour of his hair. As far as he knew there were potions for it, for permanent colour changes. One of the spell books he had wished into existence might have some spells in them too. He couldn't do much about his eyes unless there was a potion for that too, but maybe a different sort of glasses -- with colour tinted lenses perhaps…

He added the book store to the places he needed to visit in the following day. Though his looks weren't that important to him, he needed to change his looks. And if the colour changing needed to be done by potion, he would need to visit a potions shop too. Thankfully he wouldn't need to do anything about Tom, he was just a baby after all. Maybe once the boy was old enough to go to Hogwarts -- in case Tom Riddle's old teachers were there.

After washing his hands and face, Harry headed back to the room he had rented and cancelled the monitoring charm. After making himself ready for bed, he leafed through the baby book in hopes of finding something about baby slings to replace the stroller. He found an actual spell for it -- it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did -- before setting down the book and stretching himself out on the bed.

Before drifting off to sleep he reminded himself to check out if there was a thing like magical optician.

 

* * *

Harry was startled awake in the middle of the night by a quiet whine coming from next to him. Groggy from sleep, he was for a moment about to tell Ron to be quiet, before reality crashed in and he remembered where he was -- and who was the only person who could be making the noise. And just as he came to this conclusion, Tom broke out to a wail.

"Alright, alright, I'm up," Harry moaned groggily, sitting up and quickly picking the boy up from the crib. Shaking his head to clear the last remnants of sleep away he eyed the whimpering child with a frown. There was no smell about Tom so it couldn't be a dirty nappy. "Hungry then?" he asked with a yawn, remembering the baby book's section about milk spells -- and warning that babies were generally hungry just about always.

Rocking Tom in his arms and trying to quiet him down momentarily, Harry reached for the book and quickly searched the chapter about feeding. There was a spell for milk that worked rather like _Aguamenti_ except it wasn't to be used as an offensive spell. _Materlactimenti_ , and it had to be specifically _Materlactimenti_ because mere _Lactimenti_ made just cow's milk and _Materlactimenti_ made mother's milk, which, according to the book, was important to young babies.

"Figures that they'd have spells for this sort of thing too…" Harry yawned and reached for his robes. He needed a baby bottle with a teat for the spell, and to his relief he had been wise enough to wish for it back on the train. Taking out the trunk of Tom's things, Harry un-shrunk it and then spent an agonising half of a minute searching for the right key while Tom broke out to a loud cry. Hoping that the rooms had sound proof walls, Harry struggled to get the trunk open and then searched for a bottle.

In his sleep deprived state, he couldn't make the spell work with his holly wand even after the fifth try. Groaning with annoyance he threw the wand aside and reached for the arm holster. It barely surprised him that with the Elder Wand he got the spell right on the first try. "You're lucky, brat" he muttered to a whining Tom while finally offering the teat to him. "If I didn't have this wand, we'd be crying here all night."

The baby merely smacked his lips around the teat and happily sucked on the milk. Snorting sleepily, Harry waited until the boy pushed the teat from his mouth before placing the bottle on the bedside table. Then, he tried to ease Tom back to sleep, rocking him in his arms. It took a good ten minutes before the boy finally yawned and started to give in.

Making a mental note to check out about self-rocking cribs, Harry collapsed on the bed soon after.

 

* * *

 

Tom woke him up early in the following morning too, the boy's loud wails echoing in the room before Harry could even open his eyes. Cursing under his breath, Harry sat up, glancing at the window while reaching for the boy. The noise was soon explained by the smell hanging about the disgruntled baby told that the boy's nappy needed to be changed.

 With a sigh, both of tiredness and slight irritation, Harry pulled his robes on before gathering the boy from the crib and heading to the bathroom. There Tom's noise only intensified while Harry opened the pyjamas and the buttons holding the cloth diaper. The youth was quick to cast three rapid-fire _Tergeos_ to the nappy before he eyed the baby's not so clean behind with discomfort. But as Tom showed no signs of quieting down, Harry steeled himself before cleaning the baby up with slightly dampened towel -- which he Scourgified two times afterwards.

After Tom was cleaned up, the wailing lost some of its force and turned into whimpering. Quickly Harry did his business before heading back to the rented room. There he fired a cleaning spell at the baby bottle sitting on the bedside table before filling it with milk again -- this time he managed to do it with his holly wand though it took two tries. "There we go," he sighed with relief before offering the bottle to Tom who was resting on his left arm. In his irritation, the boy rejected it a few times before accepting.

It seemed that taking care of a baby wouldn't be as easy as Harry had thought, despite all the spells there were for it, Harry mused while watching Tom drink. "I guess I was wrong thinking that you'd be an agreeable baby," he muttered with a sigh. Well, it seemed that he was somewhat surviving for now. He'd probably be in real trouble when the kid learned to speak. And when he got moody and willful. And when he was the age to start thinking about world domination…

With another, slightly mirthless chuckle, Harry shook his head. Hopefully it wouldn't get to that. "Well, as long as you won't be like Dudley, I think I'll be able to handle you," he muttered with a grin, to which the baby answered with a wet smacking sound before continuing to suck on the milk.

Once Tom was done, Harry shrunk the bottle to half its size and placed it into his pocket, not wanting to have to un-shrink the trunks every time he needed to feed the boy. He reminded himself to cast a cleaning and a disinfecting charm onto the bottle before using it to feed Tom the next time, though. The book was rather vehement about that.

"Clothes next," he said. Tom merely made an incoherent cooing sound as Harry laid him down on the bed and started removing his pyjamas. Then he dressed the boy in light green clothing that was a bit thicker than the pyjamas. After pulling tiny socks onto the boy's feet, he checked his own clothing, before shrinking the trunk and putting it back in his pocket. Then he put the baby book in his pocket -- he had a feeling he'd need to consult it often.

"Alright, the sling charm next," Harry mused. Holding a now contently full Tom against his chest, wrapped in a blanked like the book demanded, he tapped the baby's back with his wand and murmured the spell for the sling. It did absolutely nothing.

With a sigh Harry decided he wasn't in the mood for spell practice right now. He quickly pushed his holly wand into his hip holster before pulling out the Elder Wand and repeating the spell. It had an immediate effect, as out of nowhere a dark green cloth appeared, wrapping around Harry and Tom and effectively binding the boy to Harry's side.

"That was easy," Harry muttered with relief and slight annoyance. He didn't _want_ to use the Elder Wand for everything, it felt somehow… dirty, considering that the last person to use it, or try to use it anyway, had been Voldemort. But sadly, things were easier with the Elder Wand. With a sigh Harry looked at the boy. "Well, whatever. You comfy there, Tom?" he asked. The boy burped in answer and yawned.

After shrinking the pram and putting it into his pocket, Harry glanced over the room and grabbed the previous day's Daily Prophet. To his relief the bar was almost empty, excluding a man writing a letter by the window and a woman sitting by herself, calmly drinking her morning tea.

"Good morning, Mr. Newman," the bartender of the Leaky Cauldron greeted him when he approached the counter. "And good morning to Tom too. I see you took my advice," the man nodded towards the sling.

"It was a good one," Harry smiled. It would be much easier to carry Tom against him like this rather than to struggle with the stroller. This way he would know immediately if Tom needed attending to, too.

"Good, good. I imagine you'd like some breakfast then. Something for the boy, perhaps?"

"No need, I already fed him. I would like to see the Daily Prophet -- oh and here's yesterday's paper," Harry said, placing the paper on the counter.

"Alright, I'll get you some toast and eggs," the innkeeper nodded while handing him the new newspaper. "Would you like some tea too?"

"No, pumpkin juice will do," Harry said, accepting the paper. As the bartender headed away to get the food, Harry glanced over the headlines. There was nothing really interesting in them, but still he opened the paper and skimmed through it while Tom shifted in his sling and began to drift off with a content little huff.

"Seems like little Tom is a quiet child," the bartender said while delivering Harry a plate of toast and eggs and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Looks can be deceiving. Tommy here can wail like a bloody fire alarm, trust me," Harry smiled crookedly before closing the paper and reaching for the toast. "You didn't hear him twenty minutes ago?"

"Some guests whined about the noise a few months back so I've had silencing spells put on the walls, around the rooms and the corridor there," the bartender shrugged his shoulders.

"That explains it, though you might want to be careful with those," Harry frowned slightly. "With silencing spells that strong up, you wouldn't be able to tell if some sort of accident or incident happened in the guest rooms. With them up someone could attack one of your customers and you wouldn't even know," he warned and glanced down at Tom who seemed like he was going to sleep for a few hours again "Hmph, sleepy head. I suppose he's at the age where he has nothing better to do than sleep."

"I suppose that's pretty much the same with most children that age," the bartender said with a chuckle, leaning his elbow on the counter and his chin on his palm. "And I'll see what I can do about the silencing spells to make them less likely to be taken advantage off," he promised before eyeing Harry curiously. "Do you know much about house security?"

"I'm not exactly an expert," Harry said with a snort. "But I'm somewhat of a defence enthusiast -- and I guess I've picked up things from one of my friends who was good at securing places."

"In times of war, those are important skills," the bartender nodded and hummed thoughtfully. "You were saying something about buying a house last night, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was," Harry glanced up and frowned. "I don't actually know about where to go with that, though. Does Gringotts handle that sort of matter or…?"

"Only with inheritance related business, I'd wager. There's an office, it's right next to Gringotts actually, which handles the sale of properties and buildings and such," the innkeeper shrugged his shoulders. "I suggest you go there, they'll be able to either help you or direct you to someone who can."

"Right, thanks," Harry nodded and bit into his toast.

The bartender eyed him and Tom for a while as Harry ate and then tilted his head to the side. "I have been wondering… what is it like to be a father at your age?"

"Kinda scary, and the mornings could be better," Harry admitted between bites. He wished that every night and morning wouldn't be like the one he’d just had, but he decided not to hold any high hopes for it. Best expect the worst, that way he wouldn't be unpleasantly surprised. "But I suppose it's like that for everyone. And you learn new spells and new uses for the old ones, if nothing else. I'd be in real trouble if I didn't have magic," he chuckled and finished his toast.

"Yes, I suppose that does help," the innkeeper chuckled. "Ready to head off, then?" he asked.

"Yes, pretty much," Harry nodded. "I'll probably come around later on. Even if I find a good house today I’ll need to furnish it and everything so I might end up living here a week or so."

"Well, I'll keep the room clear for you," the innkeeper nodded.

Harry nodded in return and then headed towards the back door and to the dingy little alley leading to Diagon Alley. He had a lot to do that day but most of all he had a home to make, for himself and Tom both. As he opened the gateway to the alley, he sadly wondered if it would be the first real home for both of them.


	3. Diagon Alley

Harry wasn't received too well in the Office of Magical Estates and Properties. He figured that it was mostly because of his age and because of Tom – a seventeen year old with a kid which he claimed was his own son? Yeah, that would put people off a little and probably make him seem like a highly irresponsible individual.

Thankfully the secretary of the office, Miss Diana Craig, changed her mind when, while asking for identification, Harry not only produced the identification forms with the ministry's stamp on them, but also the birth certificate for Tom and Harry's own OWL _and_ NEWT results. She didn't even seem to notice Harry's astonishment that he apparently had a completely legal form of the NEWT's he had never taken, or his pondering over Tom's supposed mother.

Of course, Tom's real mother was Merope Gaunt, but thankfully enough even that aspect of the papers wasn't truthful. Instead she was named as "Maia Newman née Katischnos" in the forms, making Harry wonder where on Earth had the conductor gotten that name from. According to the papers, Tom and Maia had both been born in Greece of all places, making Harry slightly afraid that he'd need to learn how to speak Greek to keep up the pretence.

"This seems to be in order, Mr. Newman," the secretary said to Harry, handing the papers back after taking a copy of Harry's so called ministry issued identification. "Now, you want a house, correct? Is there any particular place you were looking to buy one from?" she asked, reaching for something underneath the office counter. A book which probably held the list of available estates.

"Ottery St. Catchpole if possible," Harry answered. If he could get a place near the Weasleys or possibly the Lovegoods, it would be good -- the other Wizarding children would hopefully be a good influence for Tom, even though they were a bit older. "If not, then Godric's Hollow." Living near the Potters would probably be disconcerting, if they even lived there in this world, but Harry _did_ want to get to know to his parents, even if they'd never truly got to know him.

"Ottery St. Catchpole, huh…" Miss Craig murmured, leafing through the book. "Ah, here. There are currently three estates in that area free, all formerly owned by Wizarding families. The Lawley estate, the Paddock estate and the Waldgrave estate…" she took a piece of parchment which had been between the book's pages and handed it to Harry. It was a map of the area with the estates marked by name. "All three of them are still under muggle repellent charms and preservation spells, even though the Lawley estate has been empty for five years and the Paddock estate has been uninhabited for more than twenty. So they should be relatively untouched."

Harry nodded, smoothing his hand over Tom's side as the boy slumbered away in the sling while eyeing the map. The closest house to the Weasleys and to the Lovegoods was the Waldgrave estate. "What's the state of this one?" he motioned at the dot in the map.

"The Waldgrave estate, which includes a two-story cottage and the grounds surrounding it, has been empty for about nine years," the woman frowned. "It's in a relatively good state considering how long it has been empty, but people generally don't wish to touch it because it's haunted."

"Haunted?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

The young woman nodded. "By the son of the former owner. The boy, who was twelve at the time, fell down the stairs and broke his neck. As far as I can tell, he's a relatively quiet spirit but people usually prefer to stay away from haunted houses, I'm sure you understand."

Harry didn't, really, but the majority of his time among the Wizarding world he had been living in Hogwarts, which was haunted by some two dozen ghosts. And, now that he thought about it, he found that he had really nothing against living with a ghost as long as the ghost wouldn't be a bother. "How much is the estate and is it possible to take a look at it?"

As the woman gave the approximate price, Harry thought back to the trunk load of galleons he had wished into existence in the Reality Express. Considering that it was a trunk with five compartments, he was rather certain that he could pay the price for the estate. To his luck it was relatively cheap for a Wizarding estate thanks to the ghost.

"I can take you there myself, I just need to get someone to take care of the counter," Miss Craig said and eyed Tom. "I figure that we would need to take the Knight Bus?" she asked with small measure of distaste.

"Yes, I'd prefer it," Harry nodded and smiled wryly. "I can pay the fare for you."

With a nod which was all but thankful, the young woman called a slightly older man to the counter before fetching her over robe and leading Harry out. To the youth's surprise, instead of going through leaky cauldron to the muggle exit, Miss Craig hailed the bus right into the Diagon Alley. And, shockingly enough, it didn't run over anyone as it appeared with a bang.

An elderly man with windswept hair stepped out, wheezing slightly as he did. "Welcome to the Knight Bus," he said, coughing a little. "The emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Danny Prang, and I will be your conductor this morning." He finished the speech with a yawn. "Sorry, long night. Oh, Mr. Newman!"

"Morning, Mr. Prang," Harry answered, stifling a smile. He had been slightly shocked to find out that before Stan Shunpike had been brought onboard, the conductor of the bus was Ernie's elder brother. He suspected that Danny had died before Harry's third year, which had led to hiring of Stan.

"We'd like to go to Ottery St. Catchpole," Miss Craig spoke stiffly, eyeing the bus with dislike. "As close to the Waldgrave cottage as possible."

"Alright, alright, all aboard then," Danny Prang said, eyeing Harry curiously. "No pram this time?"

"Too much trouble," Harry grinned and stepped inside. While a worried looking Miss Craig sat down on the nearest bed, Harry paid for them both. "If you'd be kind enough to drive slowly like you did last night, I'd appreciate it," he added, paying extra for the decrease in speed.

"Of course, of course, can't rush about with a kid. It'll take a bit longer to get there, though" the wizened conductor reminded him while taking out a wand and casting a spell over the bus -- to muffle the noise. "Onward then, Ernie -- but carefully. We have a baby on board."

Harry sat down, sighing with relief. He could still hear the bang but it was quieter than before. The buss still jerked rather violently as it set off, but at least Harry wasn't thrown to the bed. "I didn't know the bus gave special treatment to babies," Miss Craig muttered with surprise.

"I paid extra for it the last time I was on board," Harry said, rubbing his hand along Tom's back through the sling. The young woman nodded thoughtfully and then concentrated on staring outside.

The trip lasted about an hour. In the middle of it, Tom made a discomforted noise in his sleep and then released a rather foul smell to the bus. As Harry blushed with embarrassment and stifled the urge to curse under his breath, Miss Craig gave him a look before jumping up to sit elsewhere. As Danny Prang opened a window not so discreetly, Harry sighed. "Is there a bathroom here?" he asked and the old man motioned towards the back of the bus, covering his nose with one hand.

To his relief and slight annoyance Harry found that Tom wasn't in need of a change. "Gas," the youth muttered with annoyance while taking out the baby book and scanning over the index. There wasn't anything about gas, but underneath the chapter about feeding and related charms, was a piece about the importance of burping. Apparently after feeding Tom, Harry should've made sure that he burped all the air out of his stomach. If he didn't the boy would get gas and, probably, a stomach-ache because of the air.

Cursing and wondering if Tom would be farting the entire day, Harry pushed the book back in his pocket before easing Tom back into the sling. The boy sighed, stretched weakly and seemed to drift off again. Shaking his head, Harry headed out of the bathroom sitting in his previous seat on one of the empty beds. The smell still hung about the bus and to Harry's embarrassment and irritation, Miss Craig had performed bubble head charm to herself.

"This is why I'll never have children," the young woman muttered. "Bothersome things."

"Well, good for you," Harry muttered, stifling the urge to glare at her and sarcastically apologising for the fact that Tom had bodily functions. Turning his eyes away, Harry figured that he should probably check out if there were air freshening charms.

He was somewhat comforted by the idea of how humiliating this would be for Voldemort if the bastard knew.

Thankfully they arrived to the place without further embarrassment. Harry thanked the Prangs and apologised for the smell while exiting the buss, Miss Craig quickly following. She made a show of dispelling the bubble head charm and breathing in the fresh air. "Alright, I think I'll live," she sighed with relief.

"Uhhuh," an unimpressed Harry muttered and looked ahead. There was a grey cottage not far from them, surrounded by messy trees and bushes and a lawn which had long since over grown into a meadow. "That's the place?" he asked.

"That's it," the woman nodded and walked towards the house. "Two floors, four bedrooms, sitting room, kitchen, two bathrooms and wine cellar. And I think there is a balcony on the other side of the house," she spoke while digging in her pockets for the keys.

"Pretty standard then," Harry muttered, eyeing the cottage. The rooftop apparently needed some repairing and repainting the exterior wasn't completely out of picture. The windows were almost as grey as the outer walls, making Harry believe that it would take more than few spells to clean the place up. He liked the lawn though. It was very flowery.

"Here we go," Miss Craig finally muttered as she found the key. It took more than that to open the door which had apparently been sealed shut by moss. "For Merlin's sake," the woman muttered taking out her wand. " _Scourgify_!" she called, pointing the wand at the mossy seams of the door. With a creaking sound, the moss vanished, taking with it a few rotten pieces of wood. After that, the realtor managed to open the door.

While Harry eyed the door frame, wondering if a _Reparo_ could fix it or if it would need replacing, Miss Craig stepped inside. "It doesn't seem too bad, nothing few spells can't fix," she said settling her hands to her hips and glancing at Harry. "What do you think? There’s some of the old furniture here; with a few repairing charms they should be as good as new.

Harry wasn't as optimistic as he looked around. The smell of stale air was rather horrible, but it was the smell of mould that made him pull out his wand and cast a bubble head charm on Tom and himself. As Miss Craig quickly mimicked him, Harry stepped forward to examine the very dusty house.

The floor plan was completely different than the one of number four Privet Drive, but other than that the house was about the same size. The sitting room was connected to the kitchen but apparently it hadn't been used as a dining hall by the previous owners, if the furniture was any indication. An old bookcase and cabinet stood by the wall of the sitting room and there were some armchairs by the fireplace, but the state of the padding made Harry positive that they were moth eaten.

"The windows are nice and big, so there's no lack of light during sunny days," Miss Craig pointed out, motioning to the rather tall windows of the living room. "With some cleaning up and nice curtains, maybe a new tea table…"

Harry tuned her out, though he had to agree about the windows. After checking the room and figuring that the floor, walls and ceiling weren't as rotten as he had feared, Harry turned to check out the bathroom. It was in even better shape than the living room -- it probably had sterilisation and anti-flood charms on it like most of the Hogwarts bathrooms did.

"It looks good so far," Harry mused, patting Tom's weight gently and rocking slightly as the boy whined in his sleep. "Let's see about the second floor."

On the second floor they met the ghost. The spirit was sitting huddled in the corner, half way inside the wall when Harry stepped into the room where he was. He seemed scared to death, which, for a ghost, was a rather peculiar state.  Even though he couldn't see much of the boy at the first sight, Harry saw that his neck was strangely crooked and that he was wearing robes obviously too big for him.

"That's him," Miss Craig muttered, scrunching her nose with displeasure.

Harry threw an annoyed look at her before turning to the ghost. "You must be the ghost of this house," he said, ignoring the woman snort as he stated the obvious. "I've heard about you, but I don't know your name. Would you tell me?"

"It's… It's Hugh Waldgrave," the ghost answered, eyeing Harry nervously. "A… are you going to buy this house?" he then asked. "People always come to look but they never buy because of me. They don't like me. They don't like having a ghost around. Are you going to go away because of me too?"

"I don't know yet," Harry answered calmly, glancing at the realtor. "Could you leave me alone with him for a moment?"

"Gladly," Miss Craig muttered. "I'll be waiting outside."

After the woman had left, Harry stepped further into the room, making the ghost boy jerk slightly and slide slightly deeper into the wall. "No need to be so nervous, it's not like I could do anything to you even if I wanted," Harry chuckled and hesitatingly the boy withdrew from the wall. "What sort of ghost are you, Hugh?"

"What do you mean?" the boy ghost asked confusedly.

"Well, are you violent?" Harry asked bluntly, resting his hand under Tom's weight. "See, if I move in, I'm bringing my… son along. And I don't think it would be good for my son to live with violent spirits," he explained, watching as the ghost careful unfolded himself from the curled position. He was wearing Hogwarts robes -- and had been a Hufflepuff by the looks of it. "Were you a Hogwarts student?" Harry asked curiously.

"Yeah. These are my older brother's old robes. They're too big for me," the boy muttered embarrassedly. "It's because the hem was too long that I tripped. Mum was going to shorten it, but…"

"Well, you know the Hogwarts ghosts? Are you like the Bloody Baron, or like the Fat Friar?" Harry asked.

"I'd… like to be like Nearly Headless Nick," the boy admitted with a spark shy enthusiasm while touching his deformed neck. "I can't turn my head at all, but he could swing it and everything. It was kind of cool, now that I think about it. He could even look behind him!"

"Yeah, he is pretty cool. He's a bit sad about it though. I think he'd prefer it if he was fully headless," Harry said with a chuckle. "I think you're not violent," he said, crouching to the floor, steadying himself by resting a hand against the dusty floor. "If I and my son Tom move here, could you be nice to us?" he asked. "Could you promise not to scare Tom before he's at least eight years old? And not go through Tom either, I'm not sure that would be good for him."

The boy looked at him with amazement. "You'd really move here, even though I'm here?" he asked. "I promise I won't scare your son, mister! And I won't go through anything but the walls if the doors are closed," he quickly promised. "I'll be really nice."

Harry smiled and stood up again. "Alright. My name is Harold Newman and this is my son Thomas, but you can call us Harry and Tom, alright?" he said and, standing up as well, Hugh nodded quickly. "We can't move in here right away, this place isn't suitable for Tom just yet, but I'll come around probably pretty soon to start repairing and cleaning this place."

"Okay," Hugh nodded happily. "I'll wait for you, Mr. Newman, and when you start repairing I'll help you. I know all sorts of things that need to be fixed here because I can see inside the walls. There are lot of holes in them, rats and mice have been making them," he said.

"Okay, I'm sure your help will be useful," Harry nodded. "I should get going now, I need to seal the deal, but I should be back in two days at least. If I can find a trustworthy house-elf, I'll probably be back tomorrow already."

"You're going to get a house-elf?" Hugh asked with amazement. "Mom always wanted one, she didn't like washing clothes."

"I don't like laundry either, but it's mostly because I can't take care of Tom on my own," Harry shrugged and turned to leave, Hugh floating behind him. "You can get along with a house-elf, right?"

"If they're nice, but even if they aren't, I'll try," the boy ghost nodded.

"Good, I doubt we'll have any problems then," Harry nodded with satisfaction. He spent a moment glancing over the other rooms before heading downstairs and leaving Hugh, who couldn't leave the house, inside. "I'll take it," he said to Miss Craig, whose annoyed expression turned into look of delight.

They took the Knight Bus again, this time without any smells, before returning to the estate office where Harry signed the papers and paid the price. Miss Craig seemed to regret her poor behaviour more than slightly at the sight of Harry's trunk load of gold, but said nothing. The gleam in her eyes made Harry's next order of business a visit to Gringotts, where he arranged a vault for himself and had the trunk delivered there. He let the goblins handle the delivery because with Tom he didn't dare to step into the Gringotts carts.

Next order of business for Harry was a visit to the Ministry of Magic, to which he could thankfully take a Floo -- which he could take with Tom. The elderly man working in the House-Elf Relocation Office was bored thorough the whole ordeal as he inspected Harry's identification and then led him into the room where the house-elves were "passing time" by copying ministry files. At the sight of him, they burst into action, lining up with the enthusiasm Harry had learned only to expect from Dobby.

"I want an elf with experience with children, infants preferably," Harry spoke to the elves, making over half of them slump with disappointment and step back. The ones who stuck in the line were mostly female elves. Harry scanned his eyes over them, dismissing in his mind the elves that seemed a tad bit too trained. He didn't want an elf that had previously served purebloods -- one Kreacher had been enough for him.

Selecting one kind looking, though slightly elderly elf, Harry asked her about her experience with children. "Dina has taken care of both of former Master’s sons," she spoke in quiet voice. "Young Dean and little Damien, from whence they were little babies. Dina fed them and bathed them and cleaned them. Master thought that Dina was good at it, but Master is gone now…"

Harry smothered the urge to frown when he saw the tears in the old elf's eyes. He wanted a knowledgeable elf that could handle children and, as heartless as it made him, a weepy elf wouldn't be a good influence on Tom. "How about you?" he asked, turning to another, much younger elf. She gave a similar tale. "How good are you with cleaning, and cooking?"

"Edna isn't that good with cooking," the elf admitted softly. "Edna's mother usually did the cooking in Edna's former master's house."

Harry sighed and moved on. He interviewed about four elves similarly until he came to Merrit, an elf about the same age as Dobby who shyly admitted to taking care of four babies, two of them twins, and that when her mistress had died, she had been mainly making food around her former home. She could do laundry too, and was apparently good at cleaning as well. Her greatest flaw was her shyness; she barely dared to speak out.

"Well then Merrit," Harry said after deciding that she'd be the one. "Would you like to come with me? I don't live in a mansion, just a two story cottage, but I think I'd have plenty of work for you," he motioned to Tom who had yet again passed gas but thankfully one of the elves had dealt with the smell with a snap of their fingers. "And mostly you'd need to look after my son when I can't."

"M-Merrit would be honoured," the elf whispered with tears of gratitude in her eyes.

"The cottage where we'll live has a ghost haunting it, though," Harry warned her. "It's a ghost of a boy, but he's not scary at all."

The elf seemed a bit frightened but promised that it didn't bother her. Apparently the basement of her old house had been haunted by a weak poltergeist.

With the decision made, Harry signed the right paper work, took Merrit's vow of servitude and paid the rather high price for the elf. Once that was done, Harry and Merrit headed out of the Ministry and into Diagon Alley where Harry headed to the Leaky Cauldron to eat -- and to arrange Merrit's first test.

"I'll rent the room again, for about a week," Harry said to the innkeeper while cutting a piece of the steak. He had sent Merrit away for a moment so that she didn't hear the conversation -- she didn't seem bothered by it. "I managed to find a perfect place but it needs a lot of fixing and cleaning up. While I'm doing that, I'm intending to leave Tom to my new house-elf, but before I can trust her I need to know if I can trust her."

"Understandable," the innkeeper nodded. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'll leave Tom here while I'm finishing my shopping, with Merrit looking after him. I'd… really appreciate if you could look over them while I'm gone," Harry said. He would need to ask the man to make a magical vow but demanding it immediately would probably be more than a little rude "I'm going to cast a monitoring charm on Tom, but I'll still be out in the alley so if something happens it will take me at least a few minutes to get back here."

The bartender frowned worriedly. "I'd be happy to help you, but I'm not sure if you should trust me either," he then said. "You barely know me."

"I know you better than I know anyone else around here. It's not saying much, I know, but…" Harry grimaced. He liked this idea less and less, but he _had_ to trust at some point. "I have to trust someone," his eyes steeled. "And if something happens to Tom while he's in your care, I'll just hunt you down and make you pay."

Judging by the look on the man's face, he took the words seriously. "How about I'll just make a mild wow that I'll look after him until you come back?" he asked. "That way you don't have to trust my word."

"That sounds good," Harry sighed relieved that the man suggested it before he had. "I shouldn't be gone for longer than hour or two."

The bartender nodded and made the vow -- not an Unbreakable one, but a simpler one which would make him severely ill for a week if he broke it -- and afterwards awkwardly introduced himself as Albert. Harry thanked him profusely, still feeling a bit queasy about the whole ordeal… but he had to make sure about Merrit and this was the only way he could think of making sure. After he had finished his lunch, he took Tom -- who was whining with hunger -- to his rented room and called for Merrit.

"I'll go shopping, Merrit," he said while freeing Tom from the sling. "I shouldn't be gone for long, but as long as I am, you will look after my son, make sure that he is content and safe. Nothing can harm him while he is in your care, alright?" he asked and the elf nodded frantically. "Excellent. You can make mother's milk, right?" he asked, placing Tom on the bed.

"Yes, Master, Merrit is just needing a bottle for it," she said nervously.

"Good," Harry said, unshrinking the bottle and handing it to her. While searching for Tom's trunk, he watched from the corner of his eye how she performed some sort of cleansing charm to the bottle before making it fill with milk just with the snap of her fingers. So far she was doing well.

Quickly Harry un-shrunk the trunk and opened the clothing compartment. "Here are Tom's clothes," he said, taking the key from his ring along with the key which opened the compartment for items. "And in this compartment there are items. Nappies and such. I'll leave the keys to you for now," he said, placing the keys on top of the trunk. "Don't lose them. Now, do you need anything else? I'll only be gone for couple of hours."

The elf glanced at the trunk and shook her head. "Merrit thinks this is everything she will need," she said shyly. Tom made a louder, demanding whine. "Merrit thinks she should feed the Little Master."

"Go ahead," Harry nodded and watched how she took the bottle she had just filled and began feeding the boy. Tom whined slightly, apparently confused by the change of caretaker, but accepted the teat without fuss. So far so good.

Harry cast the monitoring spell on Tom this time slightly more at ease with it. But even with the monitoring spell, with Merrit's vows which would make her simply incapable of disobeying him and the vow from the bartender who had sworn on his magic to watch over Tom… Harry still didn't feel like he could trust enough to leave. It was _Tom_ after all. And not Tom who was supposedly Harry's son, but Tom Riddle. Future Dark Lord -- though Harry had silently sworn to stop him from ever stepping on that path. No one knew about Tom, no one could wish to take him or harm him, and yet…

Swallowing around the lump of nervousness, Harry finally forced himself to leave the Leaky Cauldron and head to shopping. He probably gave the impression that he was in an extreme hurry as he shopped, picking books at Flourish and Blott's almost randomly before heading to a magical furniture shop and selecting anything that looked remotely suitable. He had the mind to ask for the self-rocking crib and to inquire about the enchantments on it before the need to hurry kicked in again. Thankfully the manager shrunk the items for Harry, as the teen didn't dare to trust his wand hand when he was this nervous.

All the while he was aware of Tom, watching how Merrit fed him and burped him in a manner Harry promised to remember. Then he was watching how the elf changed Tom's nappy before changing his clothes into pyjamas and easing the boy to sleep. After that Tom just slept away with Merrit watching over him, but the peaceful image did not make Harry any less nervous. He could see how Albert checked on the room every now and then like asked, but the bartender didn't seem to find anything wrong. Even that didn't put his mind to ease.

When Harry hired a repairman to come and do an inspection of the Waldgrave estate the following day, the man actually asked if he was late for an appointment. At the potion's ingredient store he actually asked the man at the counter about hair colour changing potions outright, gaining a strange look from the man but good answers. Harry ended up almost buying a potions making set before remembering that he had wished for everything he would probably need back on the Reality Express.

The last place he visited took a bit longer. He found the optician store just next to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. It was kept by a woman that reminded Harry of Ollivander and Madam Hooch at the same time. She had piercing light brown eyes and silver framed spectacles and a mean looking wand. She also had no measure of patience for Harry's nervousness and told him with no unclear terms that he ought to sit still for at least a few minutes while she did the check-up.

Then she lectured Harry long and hard about his glasses -- the prescription was apparently miles off, which when Harry thought about it wasn't a wonder. He hadn't had a check-up in more than seven years after all. After she was done telling him off, she found him a perfect new pair of glasses, square rimmed ones with black frames and lenses which she begrudgingly tinted with smoky shade. When Harry put them on, his startling green eyes seemed darker than they actually were -- the glasses also made him look more mature which Harry definitely approved.

After that Harry more or less rushed back to the Leaky Cauldron to find that Merrit had done no more or less than ordered and that Tom was happily sleeping away in the Leaky Cauldron's crib. Amused, Albert told him that he had no need to be so paranoid but he barely paid any attention to it while checking his son over a few times just to be sure.

Harry had a feeling that he'd continue being paranoid for a while longer. And it's not really paranoia if you’re the father of a newborn Dark Lord.


	4. Waldgrave Cottage

 

"Master's trunk is m-missing items," Merrit told Harry on his second, or third if the first night was counted, day in the new reality. Harry was getting ready to meet the repairman he had hired, Mr. Leo Waller, and had just given the elf strict instructions to look after Tom's needs and safety. "T-there isn't powder or ointment f-for the Little Master."

"Powder or ointment?" Harry asked with confusion.

"Y-yes," the shy elf nodded somehow guiltily as if it was her fault that the items were missing. "T-they're used to p-prevent nappy rash."

For a moment Harry thought about asking about nappy rash but decided against it. He was still new to the whole thing so it was given that he was probably missing half a dozen things. "Well, where can you get them?" he asked, digging through his money sac which had been lightened by the previous day's shopping spree. "I still have time, so I can give you a few galleons to get them for me.

"M-Master would trust Merrit with money?!" the elf gasped and then, ashamedly, turned her eyes back to her bare feet. "T-there is a baby care shop at the end of the D-Diagon Alley. Merrit's former master bought items from there, Merrit thinks."

"Well, go there and get the things you need for Tom -- everything he needs," Harry said, dropping the entire money satchel to her work-worn fingers. She stared at it as if it was a dead animal. "I won't have my son lacking of anything he needs. Buy everything I'm missing, and then get back here. And don't let anyone get the money sac from you, it'll be difficult for me if you do," Harry said. "You have a half an hour. Go."

The elf let out terrified squeak and vanished with a pop. Harry smiled amusedly after her before turning his attention to Tom. He was sleeping contently after his morning meal, but that was given after the excitement of the night. The boy had woken him up in the night, not just once, but twice, once around two and then around five. Harry had been very tempted to call Merrit to take care of him, but the baby books he had been reading before going to bed would've bitten his head off because of it. Apparently babies needed as much contact with their parents as they could and leaving a baby solely to a house elf was unacceptable.

"I can't wait until you're old enough to sleep through the entire night without disturbances," Harry muttered with a wry chuckle before digging out his pocket watch. There was still time before Mr. Waller would arrive. To pass the time he pulled out the instructions to the hair colour changing potion and read through them. The potion was rather simple to make, but the instructions still made Harry wish that he could somehow get the Half-Blood Prince's opinion about the potion. Though, when he thought about it, he rather doubted that Snape had ever had the need to make a potion that changed hair colour.

The colour the potion changed the hair needed to be added in the middle. For that Harry had bought a small kit of every available colour-mixture. He had pondered on the colour, and dismissed almost all possibilities. He had been black haired all his life, blond, or red or brown or any other colour he could imagine just didn't fit. In the end he decided just to add a colour tint to his hair, to make it seem… not so black.

The first thought had been red -- but perhaps that wasn't a good idea, given that his mother's hair was red. He had also briefly considered a bluish tint, but he wasn't sure if that would suit him at all. Then, finally, Harry decided that it would be very dark brown. It wasn't much of a change but, like with his colour tinted glasses, it would make enough difference… or so he hoped. At least this way he could look into a mirror without seeing a complete stranger staring back.

Eventually Merrit came back, looking scared to death and carrying a small paper bag in her bony arms. She handed the money sack to Harry in a manner that made Harry wonder if it was burning her. "Merrit got what Little Master needs. Merrit used two galleons, four sickles and seven knuts to get it."

"Good work, Merrit," Harry nodded and accepted the sack. Quickly he tied it to his hip before taking out his wand and casting _Specto Parvulus_ on Tom. "It's about time for me to go," he then said, blinking and trying to get adjusted to the double vision. "Take care of Tom -- and be sure to get something to eat from Albert when you're hungry yourself," he added, not wishing to be the owner of a starved house-elf. "I should be back before long."

"Merrit will do as Master commands," the shy house-elf bowed. "Merrit will take care of Little Master and guard him with her life."

Harry momentarily wished that he could say anything against that, but he couldn't. As it was, he did care more about Tom than he cared about Merrit. "Good," he just said. "Well then, I'll be off." With that said, he left Tom to Merrit's care and headed to the bar side of the Leaky Cauldron. Leo Waller, a burly man with dirty blond hair and a beard, was waiting for him there with various tools sticking out from the pockets of his leather work robes.

"Mr. Newman!" the repairman called out. "There you are. I was thinking you had forgotten."

"Oh no. Slight issues with proper baby-care, nothing more," Harry said. "Ready to go then? I'll Apparate us there, seeing that the house is disconnected from the Floo Network for the time being."

"Alright then," the man nodded and stood up. "I'm itching to get to work," he admitted. "Not many repair jobs to be done around the magical world, really. Not since _Reparo_ became so popular. People use it to do everything these days."

"I suppose that would put a damper on the business of a proper workman," Harry mused, not having thought about that. But, as he wasn't sure if _Reparo_ worked on the damage in the Waldgrave cottage, he preferred to have a specialist working on the house. "Shall we go then?" he asked, offering his arm. With a nod the repairman grasped it in his gloved grip and smothering a wince, Harry Disapparated the both of them to the Waldgrave cottage.

"My," the repairman muttered at the sight of the house. "That roof definitely needs some work. I could probably fix the chimney too, seems like it's a bit crooked. Hm… have you thought about painting the place?"

"Yeah, I'd prefer it," Harry nodded. "Grey is kind of a ghastly colour. Shall we go inside?" he asked then taking out the key to the front door. Mr. Waller followed him inside, and then spent an hour or so picking out every little thing that needed to be fixed. The door and doorframe of the front door, one window needed to be replaced too for similar reasons, the man wanted to tear off the entire sitting room floor, apparently there was mould underneath it, and was considering doing the same with the ceiling. The cellar the man had wanted to re-brick and there were lot of holes to be repaired all around the walls. The kitchen needed some work to be done too and the man wanted to retile the second floor bathroom floor.

"Altogether this would take me about four days," the repairman summed up once he was done. Hugh was watching them curiously from the ceiling corner, but with Mr. Waller there, the boy ghost hadn't dared to say a word yet.

"Only four days?" Harry asked with shock. He had thought, after the inspection, that it would take at least a week or two to fix the cottage.

"Magic," Mr. Waller grinned. "Altogether this will cost you about seventy galleons, I think. I can get all the material I need from the workshop, and the price of those things will be included in the fee," he said, meaning the workshop-like office from where Harry had hired him. "If I get to work today, I'll get it done for next week and you can move in on Monday."

"That sounds brilliant," Harry nodded. Not much after that they headed back to Diagon Alley to seal the deal. Harry jotted down a few notes about the exterior and interior, and how he wanted the exterior to be painted. Aside from that he gave Mr. Waller free hands as far is came to the house, with a strict order get rid of anything that could be harmful for Tom, even if the repairman had to tear down walls to do it. In the spirit of this, they decided to throw just about every single piece of old furniture out, which made Harry glad that he had bought more than he needed to from the furniture shop at Diagon.

In the following four days, Harry was mostly in the cottage watching the repair work. Waller didn't seem too bothered by it, as Harry was more than willing to get his hands dirty and help the man along. Hugh helped loads once he got over his shyness, telling Mr. Waller about the holes and damage inside the walls that had been made by rats and such. It eased Waller's work load and made the work faster, but since Harry had already signed the deal and would pay a set amount even if it wouldn't take as long, it was alright.

Just like Waller had said, the work was finished on Sunday. The cottage had been painted with hues of cream with brown trimmings and frames. Though the smell of dust still hung about, the mould and moss was at least completely gone and no rats would probably get in.

"I suggest getting a cat, if you like them. An owl would probably work, too," Waller suggested while packing his tools after the work had been finished. "They're better than rat repellents in places like this."

"I'll think about it," Harry nodded. He would probably need an owl for post if nothing else, he agreed silently, feeling a twinge of pain at the thought. Hedwig and her death came to his mind before he managed to push it aside. He couldn't spend his whole life mourning.

Harry didn't move into the house before the early evening on Monday. He spent the morning watching Tom at the Leaky Cauldron while Merrit cleaned the cottage thoroughly. During this watch period, he and Tom visited Eeylops Owl Emporium. As, for now, he needed owl mostly for pest control, he asked the counter which was the best hunter in the lot. He was pointed at a great horned owl which was eyeing him with a look that reminded Harry frighteningly of Hedwig, thought this owl was greatly different. The owl was rather small, for a great horned owl that is. It didn't make it any less ferocious looking, though.

"Aderyn," the man at the counter said with a sigh. "She's still young, but they said in the owlery from where I bought her that she and her siblings cut the rat population around there into half. They had to sell her early to make sure that the rest of the owls had enough to eat."

The owl made a prek-sort of noise and ruffled her feathers like she had been insulted. Harry promptly decided to take her, figuring that with a good owl he might not even need a cat just yet.

Around noon, Harry headed to the cottage while Merrit watched Tom. He then began unshrinking the furniture he had bought from Diagon Alley and putting them into suitable spots around the house. He had to make a trip back to the furniture shop to get things he had forgotten like carpets, a mirror for the hall and chairs for the kitchen along with a feeding chair for Tom on Merrit's suggestion. Most of the time that it took to furbish the place was taken by Harry's fighting with the curtains and arranging the dishware in the freshly repaired and painted kitchen cupboards.

Then they moved in. The rest of the day Harry and Merrit spend unshrinking Harry's many trunks and finding good places for all of his belongings. One of the empty bedrooms was made into a library after Harry realised that the trunk which he had wished full of "books I'll probably need in the new reality" had about fifteen compartments. He had to buy two more bookshelves for it though.

Tom got his own room too; a place where they arranged the boy's clothes into a drawer and so forth. For the time being he was sleeping in the self-rocking crib beside Harry's bed, as he would probably need nightly tending to in the weeks to come. Merrit, after a long, though rather quiet argument, agreed to live in the smallest bedroom. She argued her way out of Harry's suggestion that she'd make proper clothes for herself, though, clutching to her pink, toga-like pillow case with all her might. Even Harry's assurance that he'd own the clothes she would wear and that she wouldn't be _given_ clothes despite wearing them didn't make her change her mind.

By the time the night started to creep in, Harry could finally look at the cottage with a measure of satisfaction and say that it was good to be home. Hugh, whose room was now a library, seemed happy too, to see his home in better state than it had been in a while. After celebrating the finishing of his house with a bottle of butterbeer, Harry went to bed dead tired, but content.

Of course, Tom had to wake him up at three o'clock in the morning.

 

* * *

"You ever-hungry bugger," Harry murmured softly to Tom, leaning back in one of the kitchen chairs while feeding Tom. Merrit was making him some breakfast by the stove and the smell of the frying eggs was making Harry hungry too. "Seriously, soon I'll have cast the _Materlactimenti_ spell more than I've cast _Expelliarmus._ And I've cast the latter pretty often."

"Is he really eating all the time?" Hugh asked curiously, leaning his ghostly elbows on the table and watching Harry and Tom with fascination. "He woke up hungry last night too, didn't he?"

"Babies, they don't do much else but eat, poop and sleep," Harry grinned and withdrew the bottle as Tom started rejecting the teat. "I hope he didn't startle you in the night. That's a pretty common occurrence with Tom right now."

"No, not at all," the boy ghost answered, watching avidly as Harry took a towel and placed it on his shoulder before resting Tom against his chest with the boy's chin against the towel – after the first few times of burbling Tom, he had learned to be prepared. "Do you need to do that after every time he eats?"

"Yeah. He swallows a lot of air while feeding," Harry answered, patting Tom's back and withholding a grimace when eventually the boy let out a soft burp of air -- and milk. Not sure if that had been all, he held the boy against his chest for a moment longer before reaching for a rocker he had bought on Merrit's suggestion. After the elf had realised that he was rather inexperienced with kids, she had been shyly making suggestions here and there.

"Here you go, Master," the house-elf said while carrying the plate full of scrambled eggs for Harry along with a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Merrit," Harry nodded, wiping Tom's chin with a clean part of the towel before lowering him down into the rocker. "You’ve eaten too, right?" he asked the house-elf while placing his toes under the edge of the rocker and using his feet gently to rock it.

"Yes, Merrit has eaten," the elf nodded and turned to the stove again. "Merrit will wash the dishes."

"Alright," Harry nodded and turned to his food.

"Where's Tom's mum?" Hugh asked, looking down to the rocker rather than watching Harry eat. "You haven't mentioned her once and I kind of figured that she won't be living here."

"She's dead," Harry answered softly, glancing at the boy too before turning his attention to the food. He had built up a story around Maia Newman née Katishcnos, knowing that he would need one in case people asked. "Tom's birth was hard on her and she died few hours after he was born."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Hugh said. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright," Harry smiled. "We were expecting it -- she was rather ill when she got pregnant and the pregnancy… it didn't agree with her. We were lucky that she handled it to the end and that she had enough time to see Tom before she died."

The boy ghost still looked a bit sad and guilty. "Can I be like a big brother to Tom?" he then asked quietly while the baby stretched in the rocker and yawned. "I've never been a big brother. I was always the little brother."

"Sure, if you want to be. I'm sure you'll be a great big brother for him," Harry grinned and the ghost cracked a little smile.

After finishing his breakfast, Harry reached for the Daily Prophet -- he had gotten a subscription to it while he had been staying at the Leaky Caldron. While glancing over the news which wasn't really anything important, he pondered about how he would get _into_ things. Of course, it was a time of peace currently but he still wanted to make friends with the right side of people. He wanted to find out about things.

Which then reminded him, that he had completely forgotten about checking if there were such things as Wizarding libraries, or about the Daily Prophets of the past years. He still didn't know who the Boy-Who-Lived was or how the Potters were doing, he didn't know where Sirius was or what had happened with Peter Pettigrew. Had Pettigrew even been a betrayer in this reality? He had no way of knowing yet.

While glancing through an article about the ministry, Harry reminded himself to ask Albert about Wizarding libraries when he went to Diagon Alley the next time.

Harry was just reading the rumour section of the paper, where people were pondering about possible Death Eaters still on the run, when he heard a knock coming from the front door. Feeling a bit confused, Harry sat up. Aside from Albert, Miss Craig and Mr. Waller no one even knew about him -- if he didn't count some random shopkeepers and one bored ministry worker. And only Craig and Waller knew where he lived… well, there were also the people of the magical transportation office, due to the fact that he had gotten the Floo network connected to his grate.

"Merrit, watch Tom," he said to the elf, who immediately dried her hands on her pillow case. Harry left the kitchen and headed to the door, now happy that Waller had selected a door with a window in it. Through the window, Harry could see a slightly plumb figure with red hair. Dreading and hoping at the same time that it was who he thought it was, Harry opened the door.

It was indeed Mrs. Weasley. She was younger than Harry remembered, without some of the lines on her face which Harry distinctively remembered being there. Her hair seemed brighter too, but it might be because of the sunlight. In the last months of the war, Harry had felt like there hadn't been sun at all, back in his world.

"Yes?" he asked carefully, hoping that the fact that he knew her didn't show in his face.

He seemed to have surprised her momentarily, but she gathered herself quickly. "Oh, hello dear. Are your parents here?" the woman asked with kind smile.

"Um, I'm afraid that my parents are quite dead," Harry answered awkwardly and with shock realised that he hadn't even thought of building up a fake past for himself. He hadn't given a single thought to the parents of Harold Newman, or his past beyond the point that he was apparently home schooled mostly and that he had taken OWLs and NEWTs in Greece.

"You can't possibly… are _you_ Harold Newman?" Mrs. Weasley asked with shock and gasped when Harry nodded. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! When I heard that the old Waldgrave estate had been bought and it was a man with a baby, I thought that the buyer was, well, a bit older… my apologies," she blushed. "My name is Molly Weasley, I live just on the other side of the forest," she motioned to the forest at the right from Harry. "I came to welcome you to the area and… Oh gosh, I am really sorry for being so rude…"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. He had never seen Mrs. Weasley so flustered. "It's alright, most people have the same reaction to me," he chuckled offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley," he said and with an embarrassed smile the woman shook his hand. With a smile Harry motioned towards inside. "Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea perhaps?"

"Thank you, dear," the woman sighed, still looking a bit flushed. She lifted a round container she was carrying. "I bought you some cake I baked this morning, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Harry said, stepping aside to let her in and closing the door after them. After she had removed her shoes, Harry led Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen. "Merrit, is there enough warm water for another cup?" he asked while Mrs. Weasley gasped again with surprise.

"Y-yes, there should be," the elf nodded from where she had been watching over the now contently snoozing Tom. "S-should Merrit make Master's guest some tea?" she asked hopefully.

"Please do," Harry nodded, glancing at Mrs. Weasley. "Would you like to sit, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Y-yes, yes, of course," the woman nodded, her eyes resting on Tom. "Is that… I mean to say…"

"My son, Thomas," Harry nodded, pulling the rocker closer to the table so that it wasn't in the middle of the floor and then glanced at the table. The Daily Prophet he had been reading was still open there so he quickly folded it and put it aside. Then he glanced at the boy ghost who was still sitting across the table. "Hugh, why don't you move over a bit to give Mrs. Weasley a seat?"

"Yeah, of course," the ghost said, quickly floating to sit at the other seat. He was looking at Mrs. Weasley with extreme curiosity.

"Oh, hello there," Mrs. Weasley said to the ghost with a small measure of surprise. "You must be Hugh Waldgrave. I've heard many rumours about you. I… I wasn't sure if you'd still be around here since Mr. Newman bought the place."

"Mr. Newman doesn't mind me," the ghost grinned. "I think I remember you, Mrs. Weasley. You and Mr. Weasley just moved here about year or two before I died, right?"

"Yes, I think we did," Mrs. Weasley nodded with a faint smile and sat down in the seat previously inhabited by the ghost. Harry sat down as well, just as Merrit carried a tray with a tea pot, cream, sugar, some biscuits she had made early in the morning and another cup to the table. "Thank you," Mrs. Weasley nodded to the elf, whose eyed widened with shock before she stuttered thanks in return.

As Harry sipped his cooling tea, eyeing the woman thoughtfully, Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You must think me horribly impolite," the woman murmured while helping herself to the tea. "To barge in like this and with my facts all over the place.”

"Not at all," Harry assured with a smile. "It's okay to be curious," he said.

The woman smiled faintly. "Pardon me for asking this if it's a nosy question, but… are you possibly related to the Potters?" she then asked. "I'm just asking because you look very much like James Potter."

Forcing himself to calm down and not sprout his answer out too quickly, Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he said, hoping that it didn't sound too suspicious and cursing himself. He should've made and taken the hair-colour changing potion already. "I don't even know whom you're referring to. A wizard obviously… but…" he shrugged.

"Ah, just some family friends. James Potter is an Auror," Mrs. Weasey answered. "They have a son too, little Harry, who is going to turn two this summer, I think…" The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully before eyeing Tom curiously. "How old is your son?"

"About five weeks," Harry answered, his mind doing a little parade. His father and younger self were alive! Apparently at least that aspect of his wish worked like it was supposed to. Hurriedly thinking back to the fake identification papers and Tom's birth certificate, Harry tried not to show his elation. "He was born the fourth of May."

"Oh, I see. He looks about the age," the woman nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "Is his mother around?" she asked, glancing around like she was expecting someone to walk into the kitchen at any moment.

"Ah, no. She passed away a few hours after the delivery. She was very ill," Harry answered with faked sadness and smiled down at Tom with what he hoped was a morose smile. "So it's just me and Tom now. And Merrit and Hugh," he then added, motioning towards the house-elf who jerked slightly at the sound of her name being called and the ghost whose elbows were sliding inside the table.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman whispered. "I did not know. Is… is that why you moved to Britain just now?" she asked sympathetically.

Harry eyed her with curiosity and slight worry. "How do you know I just moved here?" he asked.

"Ah! Well, um… my husband works in the Ministry of Magic -- and you just recently filed the papers for a Floo connection to this place, right?" the woman asked and Harry nodded. "He heard about it from a co-worker of his. They figured you had just moved into Britain since you had no previous Floo address."

"I see," Harry nodded with a strained smile. It was both amazing and worrisome how much information was passed around in the Ministry without any regard for the people the information concerned. The magical world seemed to have a rather loose policy on privacy.

"Well, it's true, I lived in Greece before. I was born here in Britain, though. And yes, I guess it's true that Tom's birth and my wife's death had something to do with my moving here," he added, glancing down to Tom. "I wanted to raise my son here, at home, sort of speak."

"I see," the woman nodded thoughtfully, before turning her eyes to the cake. "Could you give me something to cut this with?" she asked Merrit, who jumped a little. "It's a shame to waste it while it's still warm," Mrs. Weasley said and Harry nodded. After Merrit had handed her a knife, she expertly cut the cake. "Here you go Mr. Newman."

"Call me Harold, Mrs. Weasley. Or Harry if you will," Harry smiled, accepting the piece and taking a bite of it. Just like just about anything Mrs. Weasley made, it was delicious.

"Well then, you must call me Molly," the woman said with a smile before looking at him rather curiously. "Forgive me Harold, but, well… you're very young to be a father," she pointed out carefully. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Just about eighteen," Harry answered with a sad sort of chuckle and looked down to Tom. "And I know that I'm too young for this, but either I take care of him myself or forsake him to some god awful orphanage. And I wouldn't put my own son through something like that," he said. "I just gotta do the best I can. Thankfully I have Merrit here to help me. She has more experience with kids than I do."

"M-Master is very kind to say that," the house-elf whispered, wringing the pillow case in her hands anxiously.

"It's the truth and you know it," Harry smiled at her before looking at Mrs. Weasley. "Do you have any children?" he then asked, knowing the answer already.

"Oh yes, indeed I do, more than I can bear at times," she laughed somewhat exasperatedly. "Six boys and one girl. My oldest, William, will be going to his second year at Hogwarts this September and my youngest, Ginevra, was born just last August. Arthur is watching them right now, he has a day off."

Harry faked surprise even as his heart ached at the mention of Ginny. "How can you handle them? I'm having my hands full with Tom and he's rather quiet when he has nothing to complain about."

"I don't know, I really don't know," Mrs. Weasley laughed. "Sometimes it really seems too much." She cast a look towards Merrit. "And quite often I find myself wishing I too would have a house-elf or two to help me."

"Well, I can understand that," the youth nodded. "It's good to hear that there are other Wizarding children in the neighbourhood, though," he then added, looking down at Tom. "Of course, Tom is still a bit too young to do much of anything, but eventually…."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "It's good for children to have someone their age to play with," she agreed. "Mine are all a bit older than your Tom but I'm sure that Ginny will like someone younger than her to play with. Ronald too, my youngest son, he's already two though."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. For a while they talked about the possibility of bringing the children together, that maybe Harry and Tom would visit the Burrow once the boy was old enough. "Isn't there another family living nearby?" Harry then asked. "I believe they're called the Lovegoods…. Do they have any children?"

"Well, yes, but… Xenophilius Lovegood is a bit… well, he’s rather strange," Mrs. Weasley frowned slightly. "I hear he collects some rather odd and sometimes even dangerous things. He's the one who publishes that paper, the Quibbler. And his wife, well, she's a spell inventor. Every now and then we can hear the noises from her experiments all the way to the Burrow."

Harry stifled a frown at that. He hadn't realised that the reputation of the Lovegoods was so bad even this far in the past. "I see," he murmured. "Do they have children?"

"Yes, a daughter about my Ginny's age. Lune, I think," the woman nodded.

Luna, Harry corrected in his mind, but said nothing. He made a silent vow to visit the Lovegoods though and make sure that Luna would have at least one friend growing up, even if it was the newborn Dark Lord. "Well, I'm sure the Lovegoods have some good qualities to outweigh the possible… weird ones," he said lightly.

"I suppose," Mrs. Weasley answered. They talked a bit more about the wizards living in Ottery St. Catchpole, which wasn't all that many, truth to be told, before Mrs. Weasley said that she had to go. "Arthur wished to visit Diagon Alley today," she said. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Harold."

"You too Mrs… Molly," Harry corrected himself quickly. "You're welcome to come around for a cup of tea any time -- though if you have an owl, do send a message first," he then added. "As I might not be here all the time."

"Yes, I'll be sure to remember to do that next time," the woman laughed embarrassedly "And you too, I would love you have you visit the Burrow, if you feel the need to talk to someone. And if you need any advice, well, I have seven children's worth of experience in these matters."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Harry chuckled before walking her to the door. "Thank you for the cake, it was very delicious," he then added.

"Kind of you to say so, dear," the woman smiled while easing her shoes back on. "Well then, goodbye Harold, and thanks for having me."

"Goodbye, Molly," Harry answered with a nod, in his mind saying it to not only this younger version of Molly Weasley, but also for the woman who had been more of a mother to him than anyone else. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too," she nodded before eyeing Harry's messy yard and carefully making her way through the meadow.

"She seemed nice," Hugh muttered, peaking through the wall.

"Yes, she did," Harry nodded, drumming his arm with his fingers while eyeing the yard. He hadn't even thought of doing something about it, but now that he thought about it, having no path through the meadow was probably a little rude for possible guests. "I think I should do some gardening," he muttered.

"It is a bit over grown," the ghost nodded.

"Yes. But before that I need to make a potion," Harry muttered. Some similarity with James Potter was unavoidable, but it was best still to distance his looks from his father. He'd need to do something about his scar too, in case the Boy-Who-Lived of this world had a scar like it. His hair was so thick that it had hidden it so far, but come a stray breeze and anyone would see it.

Well, at least now he had some connection to the people he had known. He had a feeling that knowing and being friendly with the Weasleys would help him immensely with Tom. If anyone could help Tom with his inner darkness, it was them.


	5. Neighbours and Knowledge

Though the potion for changing hair colour was relatively easy, Harry remade it three times before he was satisfied with the result. It was a potion he was going to drink himself -- and there was no Hermione there to make it perfect -- so he had to be sure by himself. Only once the smell and the colour were exact, did he dare to take it. The result was more than satisfying though. Now every time light hit his hair, the usual gleam was dulled and one could see that it wasn't jet black but very dark brown.

For the scar Harry bought a magical makeup kit -- by owl order because it simply would have been too embarrassing to buy it in person. Harry was happy that the scar was without any extra magic in it now as he applied the magically enhanced congealer to it. He rather doubted that simple magic like that of a makeup would've stuck to it, back when it was still full of dark magic -- back when he had still been a Horcrux.

To further separate himself from James and Harry Potter, Harry decided to grow out his hair -- if it suited him. But, as growing it naturally would take much too long, Harry sought a potion for it. Mrs. Weasley and a few others had seen him with short hair, but it didn't matter. He could just explain that he had had long hair previously and preferred it that way, but it had been cut by accident… or something like that. In the end it didn't matter too much -- it wasn't like anyone had any reason to be suspicious about him, even if he did a slight make over.

The hair growing potion took more than three tries to make right, but eventually he did get it right. His hair grew to a rather ridiculous length though, which led Harry into finding out that Merrit had some skill with scissors. With his hair reduced to a more comfortable, though still rather long, length Harry tied it back and, just like that, he beat the unruliness that had caused the Dursleys so much grief during his childhood.

Though to them long hair would've probably been three times as horrible as the rat's nest of before.

Once Harry was relatively certain that no one would be making any immediate connections between him and the Potters, he moved onto other things, like the yard. With a long history of gardening back with the Dursleys, Harry had no fear for the messy yard he had, but he had grown rather fond of the meadow around his house. It was… lively. And, after the horrible childhood of perfectly trimmed lawns, he rather liked the messiness.

He decided to keep most of the meadow, but make a path through it so that he wouldn't need to wade through the flowers. The bushes and the trees would need some trimming, as they were casting shadows around the house, and the bushes blocking the kitchen and living room windows would have to go entirely. Adding a fence also intrigued Harry's mind -- not a perfect white picket fence, but a loose and casual… maybe even slightly haphazard one.

With these plans, he set to work. For the first time in his life, perhaps excluding the times he had been working at the Weasleys, Harry enjoyed garden work. Unlike with the Dursleys, he could take his time and the freedom of taking a break to spend a moment or two with Tom added a flavour to the work he hadn't had back at the Dursleys. Without obsession over perfection, the work was actually pleasant.

Harry had cut a path through the meadow and was just lining it with a chain of fist sized rocks he had spent the entire morning searching for, when he got his second guest to the cottage -- or guests. Instead of coming alone like Mrs. Weasley had done, the Lovegoods approached him as an entire family.

"Oh, good morning," Harry greeted them with surprise as they approached him. He recognised Xenophilius Lovegood immediately. The man's hair was shorter than the last time Harry had seen him, but it still looked like candyfloss. Thankfully he was wearing moderate coloured robes of a somewhat light blue, rather than the egg-yolk shaded ones from Bill's wedding. He was accompanied by a woman with dirty blonde hair just like Luna's but much shorter. She also had Luna's eyes, or rather, Luna, who was currently under one years old and looking at Harry from a white sling similar to the one Harry had used to carry Tom in, had her eyes.

"Good morning young man!" Xenophilius greeted him with look of delight. "You must be Harold Newman. Marvellous garden you have, simply marvellous. I hope you're not cutting it down."

"Just trimming a little, its bit overgrown you see," Harry smiled, brushing his hands together to clear some of the dirt from them while straightening his back. For a moment he was rather relieved that he had left the Peverell ring on the sitting room table before starting to work.

"Yes, you must trim it down every now and then or the Gembalas might infest it. Nasty things, you wouldn't want to deal with them, very hazardous for the Gernumbli," the man nodded sagely before motioning at himself. "I am Xenophilius Lovegood and this is my lovely wife Selene and my beautiful daughter Luna. We live on the other side of that," he motioned haphazardly towards the forest. "How do you do."

"How do you do," Harry answered with a nod and a smile. "Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea? My house-elf made wonderful pastries just this morning, if you'd like…"

"We'd love to," Selene Lovegood said with a smile before her husband could say anything.

"Well then, right this way," Harry motioned them to follow, leaving his slightly dirty boots on the porch without even taking them into the hall. "Merrit, put the tea on," Harry called while stepping inside. He motioned the Lovegoods to follow. "Please, come inside."

The Lovegoods followed him to the kitchen where Merrit was hurriedly putting the tea pot on the stove. Just as Harry was about to welcome his guests to sit, he heard a screech from the living room where, in the rocker, Tom was supposed to be sleeping. "Excuse me for a moment -- oh, and please sit down," Harry said, quickly taking out his wand and casting cleaning spells on his hand while heading to the living room.

"Did I scare him?" Hugh, who had apparently been watching Tom, asked with a terrified voice, while half hiding inside a couch. "I was -- I was just looking because he's real cute when he's sleeping -- I didn't mean to scare him…"

"It's alright, Hugh," Harry assured while gently picking up the wailing boy from the rocker. "He's probably in need of a change," he said and checked. There was no smell but the nappy felt heavy. "Yes, I need to change him," Harry nodded and glanced at the ghost. "Could you tell our guests that this'll take a moment -- oh and tell Merrit to serve them the tea and some of the pastries she made in the morning while you're at it."

"Yes, okay," the ghost said, hurriedly floating through the furniture and then the wall like Harry had given him a life and death mission. It was rather amusing, but sometimes Hugh was more scared of Tom than Tom would probably ever be scared of him.

"Well then, little man, let's get you a dry nappy," Harry muttered and headed to the bathroom. Once he was done changing Tom, the Lovegoods had been served tea and snacks and Xenophilius was entertaining Hugh with tales of garden gnomes. "Sorry about that, Tom needed a change," Harry said as he arrived in the kitchen.

"It's alright, I was just telling Hugh about the secret language of Gernumbli," Xenophilius said while Hugh threw a slightly confused look towards Harry as if to ask if the man was for real.

"Never mind my husband," Selene said. Luna had been freed from her sling and was now sitting on the woman's lap, examining one of the pastries Merrit had made. "Your house-elf makes very good pastries," she said and then eyed Tom curiously. "This little gentleman is your son, then?"

"Yes, my little Thomas," Harry said, glancing at Merrit who hadn't quite gotten over the compliment yet. "Merrit, could you get a clean bottle for me?" he asked, and quickly the elf got him one of Tom's bottles. Quickly Harry cast a silent mother's milk into it before offering it to Tom. With a small amount of whining the boy accepted the teat while Harry wondered how many times he must've done the spell already. He could actually do it nonverbally now.

"Ooh, what was that?" Selene asked, her eyes going suddenly so wide that it made her look almost exactly like Luna, probably, would look in about ten years. "That spell you used, it made milk? Really?"

"Yes," Harry answered a bit confusedly. "The Mother's Milk Charm. It creates milk that holds all the same elements that breast milk has. Since Tom's mother died, I've been using the spell to properly feed him."

"I've never heard of such a spell," the woman sounded astonished. "I know house-elf magic can make something similar, but I have never heard… Where did you learn it? I've been trying to find something like that… Or did you invent it? I'm somewhat of a spell inventor myself, you see."

Harry blinked as a thought he had never considered before came to him. He had wished a great deal of books into existence on the Reality Express -- but he hadn't asked them to be books from his reality or the reality he was going to. It was possible that the spells in the books, like the Mother's Milk Charm, had never been invented in this reality. "Are you sure you have never heard about it?" he asked carefully. "It could be that it's a little known spell."

"I researched for one after I had Luna," the woman said. "I had problems with breast feeding you see -- I can't produce enough milk it seems. I had to use those muggle substitutes for breast milk to feed Luna until she could eat solid food."

"I see…" Harry frowned a little. "Well, the spell I use for the milk is _Materlactimenti_ it works rather like _Aquamenti_ , except it can't be used as an offensive spell…" he spoke and next thing he knew, he and Selene Lovegood had headed head first into a debate over spells, talking about spells of olden times and spell creation, spells which could be used as defensive, offensive, and passive spells, and so forth and so forth. Harry could barely keep up with most of it, as it was a subject completely unknown to him, but somehow he still managed.

Xenophilius listened to them with just a little lost look about his face before watching avidly as Harry taught the Mother's Milk Charm to Selene. It took her a few tries, but pretty soon she got it right. "This is really useful," the woman nodded with a look of wonder in her eyes as he refilled the bottle Tom had already emptied. "We had decided that we wouldn't have another child because feeding Luna in those first months was hard -- she was almost underfed. The healer said that I probably wouldn't be able to produce milk for a second child so… but with this…"

Harry blinked with wonder while patting Tom on the back and trying to get the boy to burp. Had he just unwittingly given the Lovegoods some sort of spell-work-pat-on-the-back and urged them to have more children? "Well, I'm glad if I could help," he said with a little bit of bewilderment.

"Well!" Xenophilius said rather grandly while rummaging through his robes. "I can tell this is the start of one beautiful friendship! Here, I brought you this as a sort of house warming gift…" he took out a folded issue of the Quibbler. "Here you go," the man said happily. "It's a copy of a paper I run. I hope you can read it. Not very many can, they seem to have something wrong with their eyes, but…"

"Oh. Okay, I'll try. Thanks," Harry accepted the paper, scanning over the headline. " _Bagnold's bag of bad brags_!" it proclaimed in screaming red letters, and underneath it read " _The hunt for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack still continues_!" Harry smiled and placed the paper aside. It was strange how it could remind him of Luna even as the little girl was staring at him over the table with wide eyes.

Aside from the chatter about spell research, the visit with the Lovegoods was relatively short. They did, however, promise to come around for tea every now and then and that Harry should of course visit too. Selene, who now was certain that Harry was a fellow spell inventor, had insisted that they had much to talk about. Harry promised that he'd come over for tea some time and then walked them to the door. He thought that he might be losing it a little, but the way Luna waved at Tom over her mother's shoulder when they were leaving was absolutely adorable.

"This being a father thing is going to my head," Harry decided, looking down at the baby who was half asleep in his arms. Trying to push away the notion that Tom too was adorable, Harry shook his head and headed inside to settle the boy back in the rocker so he could continue working with the yard.

 

* * *

Harry had been living in the cottage for a week or so when he decided that it was time to get some information. After spending the early morning with Tom -- who had sort of smiled that day, making Harry feel things he didn't examine too closely -- he left the boy to Merrit's care before heading to the Leaky Cauldron. There, after Albert had marvelled over his longer hair and Harry had given his loopy explanation, he got the information he needed.

"Well, there are three Wizarding libraries in London," the bartender answered. "The biggest one would be the Ministry library which is, like it says, at the Ministry. Usually only Ministry workers use it because no one but they can borrow books -- and most of the books there are restricted and not open for the public. The next one would be Metharom Library. It's just at the corner between Diagon and Knockturn."

"Metharom?" Harry asked curiously.

"Yeah. It was started as a private library way back when but the great grandson of the original founder, I think, made it public some forty years ago," Albert nodded. "I hear even Aurors and such visit it at times. It's the best library around if you're looking for specific things – a lot of very rare, very valuable books are there. But no one can borrow or even rent books from there -- and there are a load of enchantments in the place to prevent you from taking any. And, of course, the librarians will be hanging around your shoulders if you want to see any rare books."

"Alright. How about the last one?" Harry asked. The whole thing sounded interesting but he was only after old copies of the Daily Prophet.

"British Library. It has a Wizarding branch," the innkeeper said. "Not overly specified and you won't find any rare books there -- and I hear that most of the books there are in poor shape -- but it has more books in it than Metharom and the Ministry libraries. Even useless ones. Also, of course, if you have the card you can borrow books from the place."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I'm mostly asking because I was hoping to possibly read old Prophets," Harry said. "Do any of these libraries keep copies?"

"Yes… yes I think they all do, but if I wanted to read old Prophets, I'd go to the Daily Prophet's office. They have an archive  of them open for the public with issues back to when the paper was founded. Of course, you can't borrow them, but you can get copies at a rather cheap price."

This sounded like the best option for Harry. "Where is the office?" he asked.

"Other side of London, but they have a smaller office down Diagon -- it's one of the few places from which you can Floo to the main office, too," Albert said and gave Harry the directions. "Though be careful while you're in there. Some of the Daily Prophet's reporters can be vicious and you might just end up being the quote of the day."

Harry snorted, thanked the man and headed out of the Leaky Cauldron. At the Prophet's office he was forced to give his name and approximate time he would take at the archive before he was allowed to use the Floo to get there. There, an overly excited young man, probably an intern, led Harry into the archive, babbling about some reporter and photographer he admired.

The archive was rather like a library with shelves full of not rolled newspapers, but ones which had been flattened out, probably for preservation. In frames hung famous headlines of events Harry knew a little of -- one of the nearest ones proclaimed the end of the Wizarding World War and Grindelwald's defeat at the hands of Albus Dumbledore.

"The shelves are marked by months," the young man said to Harry. "Most recent would be this one," he motioned to the shelf marked as June 1982. There were only about eight papers on it. "Now, is there anything you might need? Oh, and I need to remind you that any damage you cause to the paper you must pay."

"Yes, of course. And I think I'm fine," Harry nodded, wishing that the guy would leave him alone.

"Alright. I'll be at the counter if you need me," the intern finally said and walked away. Harry looked after him until he was out of sight, and then made beeline for the November 1981 shelf. He had to dig underneath twenty nine papers to get the first of November page, but it was worth it.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Gone!" the headline screamed in letters slightly bolder than Harry had ever seen the Prophet use. And then, underneath the headline, words that made Harry's heart jump into his throat. "Neville Longbottom the first person ever to survive the Killing Curse."

He had to sit down at the sight of that. For a long while he didn't even try to read the article, he merely stared at the headline. Neville? Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived of this world? The fate he had never wished upon anyone was now Neville's. The unfounded fame, the flickering adoration of the public that could turn into contempt and fear at any moment, the hopes and dreams of Wizarding kind -- the goddamn _Prophesy…_ Neville. Neville Longbottom would carry the burden for them all.

But wait. It was Neville. What had happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom? And who was taking care of young, two-year-old Neville right now? Had he, much like Harry, been left to some relative to be raised in ignorance, or was Neville growing up in his Grandmother's house like in Harry's own world? And, if Voldemort had chosen to go after the purebloods instead of the halfbloods, what had happened to the Potters on the night of Halloween? Or after it? Were they alive, whole, healthy… or locked up in St. Mungos due to insanity caused by the Cruciatus Curse?

With these questions boiling in his chest, Harry set to work, not reading the papers but hastily making a list the papers he'd want copies of. Reading them in the privacy of his own home was better than doing it here -- here he couldn't be sure who was watching and examining his expressions. Harry ended up selecting almost the entire year of nineteen-eighty-one, most of eighty and some from seventy-nine. He made sure to get every paper about the Death Eater trials, itching to know what had happened to Severus Snape and how many guilty Death Eaters had walked free.

The intern worker looked both horrified and delighted when Harry handed him a list of over five hundred papers he wished to be delivered to his house. Incredibly enough, it would only cost Harry about six galleons, making him marvel at the fact that the paper was so cheap.  But on the other hand, they were producing it magically. Production of a single paper probably didn't cost them anything, unlike it would have been with a muggle paper where everything from paper to ink to delivery and everything in between had to be paid for. Owls, on the other hand, didn't require any payment other than food, water and a place to sleep.

"It might take a few days," the intern said, glancing over the list. "But I think a delivery like this can be done within a week or two."

"Excellent," Harry nodded. As he would need to pay the postal owls rather than at the office, his business here was concluded with. He was rather relieved to get out of the place connected to the paper he so loathed, and could breathe much easier once he had gotten out.

As the business with the paper hadn't taken nearly as long as he had thought it would, he decided to take a stroll down Diagon for no particular reason. He picked up an ice cream cone from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and then merely eyed the windows in case he found anything interesting. After the ice cream was gone he ended up buying a magical camera and a manual for its use and for developing moving pictures. He figured that having an enormous collection of pictures of their kids was something every father ought to have.

Harry was just about to head to the Leaky to Floo back home, when he heard an enraged screech echoing in the street. For a moment, on full alert like he hadn't been since those horrible moments at Hogwarts before his departure from that world, he fingered the handle of his holly wand and turned around. But it wasn't an attack or some sort of dangerous beast -- though it certainly looked like it. It was a dirty cat, being dragged towards the Magical Menagerie by two men who were both holding it by a leash coming out from their wands.

"They finally caught the monster?" a man not far from Harry spoke and snorted when his companion gave him the same look of confusion Harry felt. "That thing's been harassing people in Knockturn Alley for months now."

Harry blinked slowly, watching how the cat fought with all its might to not cross the step of Magical Menagerie. It… rather reminded him of Sirius actually, the cat. Even from afar Harry could see that it was starved. It was pitch black and messy, its fur rather long but much thinner than Crookshanks'. It was obvious that this cat had been through some serious fights -- part of its tail was completely missing fur.

Harassing people in Knockturn Alley? Harry narrowed his eyes. That was rather like something he'd imagine Crookshanks would do if anyone ever released him into Knockturn Alley -- given of how full of untrustworthy, dishonest people it no doubt was.

"I hope that they put it down. It's not like we don't have enough stray cats here as it is," the man muttered nearby before turning to his companion. "Come on, let's head to the Leaky. I'll buy you a drink…"

Harry didn't hear the rest because the man was already walking away. After a moment of consideration, he headed for the Magical Menagerie. He just wanted to see how the cat would be treated -- in Hermione's honour, since that was something she would've no doubt done.

"A bloody nightmare!" one of the men who had dragged the cat to the shop growled when Harry stepped inside. They were trying to push the cat into a cage, but it was fighting back with all it had. "Nearly took my leg off, this monster!" the man continued. "I probably gotta go to St. Mungos with all the scrapes and cuts I got…"

"Well, at least we got it now. Now get in there, you beast," the other answered, trying to aim a kick at the cat but missing by inches. Harry, appalled, could only watch as the cat yowled and hissed at them, making most of the animals in the shop nervous and noisy as well.

Just as the door closed behind Harry, the cat managed to break free. With a hiss it leaped back towards the door, trying to escape only to find it closed. Harry took an unwitting step backwards as the two wizards, who had been handling the cat, turned their wands on him. "Oi, oi, easy!" he said, and the cat growled from behind his legs.

"Could you step aside for a moment, sir?" one of the wizards asked, but before Harry could even try to move, sharp pain hit the back of his calf. Yelping out with pain and surprise, Harry felt how the cat climbed up his robes and to his shoulder from where it hissed at the men, it's very sharp claws digging into Harry's collarbone as it did.

"It's got a hostage!" one of the men shouted and, feeling the vibration of the cat's snarling against his ear, Harry felt the urge to laugh. The situation was ridiculous.

Taking hold of the back of the cat's neck, and thankful for the experience from the many times Crookshanks went berserk, Harry detached the cat from his shoulder and then held it in his arms. Surprisingly enough it didn't fight back, merely curled tightly and continued to growl lowly at the men with its ears laid back.

The men stared at the two of them in shock. "Are you going to put him down?" Harry asked. It was the first thing that came to his mind.

"Her. Yes," the manager of the shop said, stepping forward but stopping as the cat caterwauled at him angrily. "The cat's a menace, attacking people left and right. A real nightmare, worst part kneazle I've ever had to handle!"

"I see. How about I take her?" Harry asked, looking down to the cat who was trying to push herself into Harry's armpit to hide. He spend a moment wondering how the cat would react to Tom, Merrit, Hugh and Aderyn if he took her home, but decided that if she wouldn't behave he'd come up with a way to control her. For Hermione he had to try.

"You'd take her? Why in Merlin's name would you like a feral cat?"

"She seems to have spunk," Harry answered calmly. The men stared at him like he was either insane or an idiot, making Harry wonder if Hermione had been treated like this when she had bought Crookshanks. "How much for her?"

"If you're taking her then just take her!" the manager sounded almost enraged over the fact that someone wanted to take the cat he had planned to put down. "The less I see of her, the better!"

"Alright then," Harry nodded. "Could I have a collar and a leash -- I'll pay for them of cour --" he couldn't finish before the manager threw the items to him and motioned towards the door. "Okay. Right. Thank you," Harry muttered, quickly put the collar on the cat, who merely intensified her growling at it, before clipping the leash on. Then Harry turned on his heel and left.

The cat didn't attack Tom, much to Harry's relief. She merely looked over the boy and let out a snarl that sounded almost like a snort before starting to prowl around the house, inspecting everything. She hissed at Hugh, startling the boy so that he jumbled backwards and through a wall, and later she made Merrit jump momentarily to the counter, but other than that it seemed like she had no intention of attacking anyone. She even left Aderyn alone, only glaring at the owl before taking residence on the top of the backrest of the sitting room sofa.

As the cat didn't seem likely to break out into hostility, Harry decided to keep her. He ended up naming her Nightmare. It seemed fitting.

About six days later, his packet from the Daily Prophet was delivered by no less than five postal owls who seemed dead tired by the time they managed to drop the heavy looking package to Harry's porch. Harry gave them some water and owl treats he had bought for Aderyn before putting the asked for five galleons, four sickles and eleven knuts into the pouch one of them carried. Then he dragged the box into his living room and began sorting through the papers to figure out where the magical world stood.

It took him a few days, but eventually he had some of the current state of affairs understood. The war before the night of Halloween had gone pretty much like the first war in Harry's world, with some minor differences. The major one was that Sirius Black had gone to Azkaban in August for the death of some minor pureblood. But things started to really derail at Halloween from the ones Harry knew about.

Voldemort had attacked the Longbottoms instead of the Potters. Alice Longbottom had been tortured into insanity much like in Harry's world but Frank Longbottom had died in an attempt to save his son. Not much later the dark lord had been gone, leaving Neville alive, bearing a scar. But it wasn't a lightning bolt scar, it was a sort of loopy V instead and people were saying that it stood for Voldemort's name. They even called it the Dark Lord's Signature.

The Potters had never been attacked. Peter Pettigrew had never betrayed them -- or he had never been the Secret Keeper. Sirius Black had been released from Azkaban about a week after Halloween -- apparently it had been Crouch's decision to send him there and after Barty Crouch Junior had been found a Death Eater, all his father's trials had been examined closely. No less than eight people had been found innocent of the crimes they had supposedly committed and Crouch had lost all standing in the Ministry.

Harry figured that things had changed with Sirius. Sirius had taken the position of a Secret Keeper in this world -- and then he had been sent to Azkaban. It was possible that he had gone there willingly, because not only did Azkaban keep people in but it kept people out even more effectively. It seemed that Voldemort hadn't gone there too freely in this world -- and he had never brought Dementors to his aid. With Sirius locked in the prison, the secret had been safe  since Voldemort wouldn't risk raiding the place for a wizard who probably wouldn't even speak. So, the Dark Lord had chosen the only target available at the time, Neville.

Neville Longbottom had, or so it seemed, vanished from the face of the earth not much after the Halloween. His grandmother had gone with him so people believed that they had gone into hiding. Alice Longbottom was locked away in St. Mungos, but by the articles Harry gathered that the Order members were looking after her -- apparently Dumbledore, several Aurors and the Potters were often seen visiting the place.

Severus Snape, Harry was happy to find out, had been defended by Albus Dumbledore in this world just as he had been in Harry's world. It was definite proof that Snape had turned into a spy in this world too -- and not only that, but this time he had done what he had wished to do in Harry's world. Lily Potter still lived, and Harry suspected that he had something to do with it.

What worried Harry most about the situation was that it seemed like Voldemort had never been deformed by dark arts in this world. There was actually a picture of him in one of the papers -- and he looked just like the incredibly handsome Tom Riddle Harry had learned of in Dumbledore's Office, except he was older. His eyes weren't red at all.

He had never made any Horcruxes in this world.

And yet Dumbledore had warned people in one small interview that had been pushed almost to the back of the paper, telling them not to be fooled. He had warned that one day Voldemort would be back. Except this time, it seemed, he was using a means of immortality that was completely unknown to Harry.


	6. Birthday at the Burrow

Time went past surprisingly quickly as Harry either researched the past, worked with his wild garden, or read through the books he had wished into existence back on the Reality Express.

He had most of the past of his new world laid out and was happy to find that the differences, aside from the war and Voldemort, were pretty small. The fact that Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts and had refused the position of Minister of Magic some dozen times over relieved him more than he could quite put into words. Snape was also working at the school, and though Harry felt sorry for the students he hoped that, with Lily Potter alive, he wouldn't be as sour as he had been in Harry's world.

The garden was coming along nicely. Harry had finished making two paths across the meadow and trimmed the bushes down. The bushes underneath the windows he had cut down completely and was now trying to tempt the meadow to stretch into their place. The loose fence around the property was also done, and now Harry was pondering about adding a pond. Merrit was urging him to plant a vegetable garden, because apparently she didn't like to work with the food Harry bought from the muggle grocery stores.

But Harry soon found out that it was the books which were taking most of his time. He had barely given any thought to them when he had wished for them and even when he and Merrit had piled them into Hugh's-room-turned-into-a-small-library, he hadn't given them or their titles much attention. But now that he did, he realised the value. "Books I'll probably need in the new reality", were mostly books that had never been published either in Harry's original or new reality. And they were, for the lack of better way of putting it, extremely _expert_ books.

There were books on subjects he knew like herbology and transfiguration, even divination. He also found Arithmancy and rune books among the lot as well as more potions books that he knew what to do with, all of them detailing difficult potions of which the easiest seemed to be Veritaserum and Wolfsbane, which also were the only ones he actually knew about. Then there were books about arts he knew nothing about, had never heard about. Animism, druidism, voodoo, onmyoudou… and so on and so on. He even had books about prayer magic.

To his delight Harry found that he also had some fifty books about defence against the dark arts in his library and not a single one of them had a spell he knew. But they had spells; oh did they ever have spells in them. Shield charms he had never heard of, attacks he had thought impossible, strategies, curses and defences against them… reading through them made Harry feel awfully humble. He had thought that he was somewhat of an expert when it came to defence, but the books beat his ego down a few hundred meters.

He was disgusted to find about twenty dark arts books among the books as well. And the brand new copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art,_ the very same book from where Hermione had learned about the Horcruxes, seemed to be the _least_ dark of all the books. For a while, Harry pondered if he should destroy them, burn them, maybe learn Fiendfyre just for the occasion… but he decided that if the train had given the books to him, there was a reason for it.

When Harry realised that most of the books in his library were about arts that had never been heard of in this reality, he realised that he couldn't keep them in the second floor room without any protection. They were too dangerous and if anyone got their hands on them… well, he didn't want to think about it. After a while of thinking, he grabbed a book named _Highest Forms of Defensive Warding_ and spent two days reading it. Just like he had hoped, the book had detailed instructions for the Fidelius charm and several other similar enchantments.

As he poured over the Fidelius enchantment and tried his best to learn it, Harry realised that he probably should learn Latin. And Ancient Greek. And probably Runes too. The incredibly complicated Fidelius charm was the _easiest_ in the book, and the only enchantment that didn't require the knowledge of ancient languages. The rest weren't as simple to learn, but did they ever make Harry reel. There were enchantments in the book which had, according to the book, been used to hide places like the island of Atlantis and the valley of Shangri La and the entire _continent_ of Mu. And Harry was inclined to believe that the book was telling the truth, as in one world those places had existed and the spells in the book had been used to hide them from muggles.

While Harry poured over the book, Merrit made her vegetable garden, Arthur Weasley stopped by at one point to introduce himself, Molly stopped by every two weeks or so, and of course Selene popped in once or twice a week to discuss spell theory. And the more she came over, the more of her excited retelling of her experiments she gave, the more of spell theory he began to understand. By the end of June, Harry was no longer regretting that he had never studied sciences of magic or such -- he was learning all he needed to know from Selene Lovegood who seemed almost too happy to have someone to whom to tell it all.

"Xenophilius is a good listener," she confined in him. "But he hasn't ever had much of a head for sciences. I love him dearly the way he is, but by Merlin it's a relief to have someone of like mind to talk with."

She was now a hundred percent certain that Harry was a spell inventor and magical scientist -- she even thought he was a prodigy. How she didn't notice that she was practically putting words into Harry's mouth while teaching him everything she though he already knew, he wasn't sure, but either way, he found he enjoyed the excited woman's presence. It was amazing to watch how she could be completely serene while listening to her husband's prattle about creatures no one had ever heard of and turn into an excited-Hermione-times-seven when they were talking about magic.

July ended without a sound and Harry didn't bother to celebrate his own birthday with anything more than a break from books and nice cup of tea. He did wonder if his alternate version celebrated it but turned his thoughts quickly back to his own present. The idea of another _him_ enjoying a happy second birthday, when he had probably been locked away in a cupboard when he had turned two, led him to think jealous thoughts he preferred not to think. So instead he kept his thought on things that actually mattered.

To his annoyance, by the time August came Harry had yet to master the Fidelius Charm. He was staring to suspect that it would probably take him months if not years to do it. He had moved the library from the second floor into the cellar, casting preservation and notice-me-not charms onto the bookshelves, but he knew that it was far from enough. He wanted to Fidelie the entire basement, but even with the Elder Wand he couldn't do it, not without knowing exactly how the spell had to go. And even though the book was instructive and gave him everything he needed, he still couldn't understand the spell completely.

Harry was starting to think about asking help from Selene, even though he wasn't sure if she could do it either, when he got a letter from Molly Weasley. She was inviting him and Tom to Ginny's first birthday, which was on the eleventh of August. When the letter came, Harry decided that it was time to put the books down for a moment and take a break.

It wasn't like he had been neglecting Tom during his studies though. He had still woken up almost every night to feed and change the boy every time he needed it and most of the time when he read books, Tom was sleeping in his lap. He had also found himself with a slightly embarrassing habit of rushing for the camera whenever Tom did something new. He had actually managed to capture the boy's first -- well okay, it was his third -- smile with it and though he had missed it, he still held the picture taken just after Tom's first full laugh in place of honour.

He also found himself often making a complete fool of himself in an attempt to make Tom laugh. It was such a ridiculously adorable sound that he never got tired of it. Hugh and Merrit seemed to have a lot of fun watching it too, these days Hugh toppled through furniture mostly because he was laughing himself silly rather than because he was scared.

Neither Aderyn nor Nightmare seemed to approve of these bouts of childishness from their master. Thankfully Aderyn was satisfied expressing her displeasure by leaving the room whenever Harry managed to coax a giggle out of his son and Nightmare just pretended not to be listening at all and acting like such things were beneath her.

Tom was getting stronger too, and despite everything Harry found that he couldn't help but be proud. The boy could already support his head and seemed to have a whole load of fun every time Harry let him lie on the floor, surrounded by soft toys. The boy could roll over to his stomach now, but to Harry's endless amusement couldn't yet manage to roll back to his back. Usually he ended up tiring himself out soon and resting his head then against the blankets Harry spread for him with a defeated sigh.

It was really a pity that only Harry, Hugh and Merrit were there to see it, but Harry took many pictures of the times Tom seemed to give up to gravity just to remember that hilarious sigh for years to come. And he would, thanks to the fact that he had managed to figure out the way to make moving pictures.

In the week before Ginny's birthday, Harry went and bought her a gift from Diagon Alley. He couldn't think of anything better, so he bought a pink stuffed toy that looked a little like a Pygmy Puff. Then, when the eleventh came, Harry hoisted Tom to his chest, cast the sling charm, and headed for the Burrow for the first time in this universe. He felt a bit guilty about not having visited before, but he had needed the time to make sure that he wouldn't make a fool out of himself at the sight of the place. Now he was somewhat certain that he wouldn't.

When he got there, he found that the yard had been cleaned up much like it had for Bill's wedding in Harry's original reality. The tables had been moved into the yard where six red haired boys of varying ages were chasing after each other. The Weasley kids weren't the only ones there, far from it. Selene Lovegood and Xenophilius were there as well with Luna, and so was a woman whom he recognised as Amelia Bones. She had longer hair than Harry remembered her having, but the monocle was unmistakeable -- she had apparently brought Susan along. And then there, just like he had feared and hadn't dared to hope… were the Potters.

His father was talking with Arthur Weasley who was absently trying to free four year old Fred -- or George -- from his leg. James Potter wearing dark blue robes, holding a boy Harry recognised to be _himself_ at the age of two. It was possibly one of the most unsettling things he had ever seen, his younger alternate self. Blissfully unaware, little Harry Potter was eyeing the Weasley children curiously but with a small measure of shyness, making the elder Harry wonder if his alternate self had met the Weasleys before.

But then he saw something even more unsettling than his younger alternate self.  Not far from James Potter and his son, was a very pregnant Lily Potter. She was chuckling softly at something Xenophilius Lovegood had said, her red hair tied up to a loose knot, her hands resting on her hips. She was even more beautiful than Harry had figured from the pictures and memories and ghosts, much more radiant -- though that might be because of the pregnancy.

Harry forced his eyes away from her. There were a few other people at the party, mostly unknown to Harry and all with children. They were either trying to rein in their kids or talking with each other while the kids either played or shied away from each other. While watching them Harry got the strangest impression that Wizarding children rarely had contact with other kids. Wizarding families had a tendency of living rather apart from each other and, of course, Wizarding kids couldn't be trusted with muggle children until they were wise enough to keep a secret. It was a rather sad thought. How many Wizarding children grew up without friends before they went to Hogwarts?

"Harold!" a familiar warm voice called to him. Mrs. Weasley strode over to him, a one year old girl wearing a pink dress nestled in her arms. "There you are dear. I was thinking you'd be late."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Harry assured her, not missing the fact that many in the yard were now looking at him -- and that Selene was hurriedly excusing herself from the discussion with Lily and Xenophilius. "This is for you, princess," he then said to the girl whom he had dearly loved in one reality, handing her the wrapped up birthday present he had bought. "Happy birthday."

While Molly chuckled delightedly at his attitude, the little girl stared at him for a moment before slowly accepting the round, soft parcel. Then Selene had reached them and was greeting Harry warmly. "Harold! I was hoping to see you here! I’d wished to continue the talk we had last time -- I came up with another way of solving the Augurey's Dirge…" she started, referring to their previous go at spell theory where they had been talking about spells that could work against death omens.

"Selene," Harry greeted her with crooked smile. "Let's talk sciences at some other time, shall we?" he asked. "It's a party after all."

"Yes, of course," she sounded slightly disappointed before grabbing his arm. "Here, let me introduce you to Lily Potter. She's almost as smart as you are. Come on."

Harry threw a look towards Molly who laughed somewhat bemusedly. "Go. I shall take your present to join the others," she then said. "We're still waiting for a couple of guests; once they're here we'll start eating."

"Alright," Harry nodded and then allowed Selene to drag him to his unknowing mother.

"Harold, this is Lily Potter. She's working on her charms mastery, absolutely brilliant witch," Selene said, interrupting her husband's tale about some three headed Fanoboozle or something. "I showed her your spell the other day, she thought it was brilliant."

"You're Harold Newman?" Lily asked with surprise while Harry tried to make his squirming insides settle. "I thought you'd be little bit older…"

"Most people seem to," Harry answered with a choked chuckle before offering his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Potter," he said.

"Likewise, Mr. Newman." the red haired woman who was and wasn't Harry's mother nodded with a pleasant smile. And apparently Harry's so called disguise worked because she made no mention about possibly similarities between him and James. "And this must be little Thomas," she spoke instead, turning her eyes to Tom who was stretching in the sling. "Hello there, little man." She grinned as Tom gave her a look of utter horror. "I take it he hasn't met many people yet?"

Harry laughed. "He's only lately started to be awake enough to have the time to notice anything at all, the lazy brat," he said. The boy whined and quickly Harry closed his arms around him and bowed his head to nuzzle against Tom's fine dark hair in the way that usually made the boy giggle. "Aww, don't be like that Tom," he said, hoping to forestall the possible outburst of wailing. "I'm just kidding."

The boy huffed at him and reached to grab a hold of his nose, making Lily and Selene both laugh at them. Harry, long since having moved beyond the point of getting embarrassed when it came to Tom, just grinned, kissed the boy's little hand and straightened himself. "So, charms mastery," he said to Lily. "Hard work?"

"You don't have a mastery?" Selene asked with horror.

"Selene, I'm eighteen. I've barely written my NEWTs."

Lily chuckled. "It's not as hard as people think, but with the war and all, I couldn't really concentrate on it before," she said, smoothing her hand over her bulging belly. "And with this little one on the way, I probably won't have much time to concentrate on it in the future either. I'll be lucky if I get the mastery before I'm thirty at this pace, really."

For a moment they talked about how masteries were achieved and what the tests to take them contained. They were interrupted by James Potter, who had walked in to join the conversation while Arthur had hurried to welcome his brother. "You must be Harold Newman. Arthur mentioned you," the man greeted Harry somewhat expressionlessly. "James Potter, Lily's husband."

"How do you do," Harry answered, taking the hand his not-so-father offered him and shaking it. James had a very firm grip, after it Harry's hand was slightly reddened and the scars in the back of it shone brightly. "Firm handshake, you got," Harry pointed out, flexing his hand to get blood flowing back to his fingers.

"James, stop scaring poor Harold," Lily admonished her husband, hitting his arm slightly. Little Harry, who was sitting on James's arm, giggled at his parents while Lily turned to the elder Harry. "I'm sorry. James has just been promoted in the Auror office and has gotten this silly idea that he’s intimidating."

"I am intimidating!" James argued back while Harry forced back a snort. James still seemed to pick it up. "You got something to say, short-stuff?"

"You might be more intimidating without a kid on your arm, but that's just me," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Hmph, no one appreciates my talent. I should've dragged Sirius here," James muttered almost sullenly while little Harry just giggled more. Allowing a smile break through, the eldest of the Potters dropped the façade and smiled pleasantly. "So, you bought the Waldgrave cottage? Isn't that place haunted?"

"Yes, by Hugh Waldgrave. He's a nice kid so I don't mind him there," Harry said.

"Doesn't it worry you at all to raise a kid in the presence of a ghost?" Lily asked curiously. "That can have awful effect on a child, don't you think?"

"Nah, I doubt it will. Hugh's more scared about Tom than Tom is of him," Harry laughed, shaking his head. "He still keeps jumping into walls and furniture's whenever Tom wakes up cranky."

Their discussion was soon interrupted by Molly's voice calling over the crowd. "Alright we're all here! Let's gather around the table, shall we?" she asked, and the guests moved towards the table, pushing and dragging their children with them. With some measure of sadness Harry realised that Tom was the youngest of the lot. There were other women aside from Lily in the crowd who were expecting, though.

"Alright then, all together," Molly conducted happily and together they wished Ginny a rather loud happy birthday -- and then there was a round of awws as the girl hid against Molly's chest and burst into tears. Laughing softly at her daughter's shyness Molly untangled her from herself and urged her to try and blow out the candles. She didn't manage, but she had six brothers -- of which only three were taller than the table, though -- who were happy to help.

Once the candles were blown out, and applause had been given, the cake was cut and people began to eat. As casual chatter began, Molly introduced him to the rest of the parents around. It was only then that Harry even remembered that the Diggory family and some others lived in the area. After having a word with Amos Diggory whilst trying to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt at the sight of little five year old Cedric Diggory, Harry withdrew from the socialising as much as he could.

Sadly soon after he found himself, despite the attempt to not fall into what he now called the Selene ditch, knee deep in spell theory with her. "So, Augurey's Dirge," she said, absently offering Luna a bit of the cake's icing from the tip of her spoon. "I’ve been thinking about it and, well, wouldn't a spell with the same sort of base as the Patronus Charm work?" she asked. "Augurey's Dirge causes mostly depression and bad mood, so the Patronus base should work against it…"

"Augurey's Dirge?" Lily asked curiously.

"It's an old tale about the Augureys," Harry explained. "That when an Augurey's master dies, they can sing a lament so depressing that it can drive people to suicide. We were pondering that if there's any truth to the tale, would be there a spell to combat the effect."

She blinked. "But if it's just a tale, what's the use of thinking about it?"

"We were talking about it just for the sake of argument," Harry shrugged. "And I don't think Patronus would work," he said to Selene. "Not even the base. Patronus doesn't really cause happiness or even combat the effect of depression _in a person_. It's an embodiment of happy feelings and that's about it, it doesn't cause them. I think you were closer to the point with cheering charms, but I don't think those would work completely either."

"Oh shoot," Selene muttered. "I can't do Patronus so I wasn't sure. It's a difficult charm after all."

"You can't?" Harry asked with a surprise, remembering how easily Luna had learned it. "I can teach you if you'd like."

"Thank you, Harold," she said lightly before frowning again. "How about if you could do some sort of Patronus like barrier?" she then asked. "Like a Patronus bubble. A Dementor's effect can't pass through a Patronus, so…"

Harry thought about it. She was getting onto something. "It could work, but I'm not sure if a Patronus charm can be cast like that. It would be either a charm derivate from Patronus… or a whole new charm…"

"If you managed to create a Patronus bubble or dome, I think that'd be pretty useful against Dementors and Lethifolds," Lily joined the conversation. "A perfect defence against both of them, rather than the passive offence that the Patronus is."

"Yes, but it would be perfect as long as the caster was able to keep it up. But if it was possible to make, then inside it the caster would be completely beyond the Dementors effect and thus it would be easier to hold onto the positive…" Harry nodded and then narrowed his eyes. "Or imagine locking a Dementor inside a thing like that…" That sort of thing would've been pretty useful in the second war and before it.

Soon after Ginny had torn through her presents with shrieks of joy and laugher, the adults watched how Molly and Arthur, in their element, organized the kids some games and such. The sight of them playing games and laughing so loudly made Harry wonder what the Dursleys would have thought of this. They had thrown grand parties for Dudley, but not a single one of them had been as sincerely happy as this one. Or as chaotic.

"Do they do this for all their children?" Harry asked Lily curiously. If they had to throw a party like this seven times a year -- and on top of that there was still Christmas and Easter to consider too -- they'd probably tire themselves out pretty quickly.

The woman who was and wasn't his mother laughed, apparently realising what he was thinking. "Only those of eleven and younger, I think," she said. "Bill and Charlie are already at Hogwarts age after all."

"I'm rather jealous of them at times," Selene confined. "Their children are never alone because they have so many siblings, but my Luna is the only one…" she threw a look at her husband who was happily helping Luna play along with the other kids. Luna didn't seem to yet understand much of what was going on, but was having great deal of fun regardless. Selene sighed. "Sometimes I fear that she feels lonely, being the only child."

"Then have another one," Lily said with a shrug, brushing her hand over her belly. "I would've had a brother or sister for Harry months ago if it hadn't been for that blasted war…"

"I have been thinking about it," Selene murmured thoughtfully.

Harry turned them out. Seriously, why they were even talking about this stuff so close to him when he was a bloke? He felt like they were trying to convert him into "one of the girls" just because he had baby with him. Selene had a point, though, he had to admit. Would Tom too feel awfully lonely because he was the only kid of the house?

No, Harry decided. He'd make sure that Tom would have friends well before Hogwarts. The happier a childhood the boy had, the better. For all of them.

Harry's musings was interrupted by a whine coming from the subject of them. Tom was staring up to him with a scrunched face, struggling slightly against the slightly restraining sling.

"Looks like someone's gonna _go_ ," Lily chuckled.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, looking at them. "There wouldn't happen to be a bathroom anywhere near here?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"I need to visit the loo too. Come on, I'll show you," Lily said before straining herself to her feet with a huff. Harry stood up as well, and together they evaded the group of children before heading inside to the Burrow. Lily led him to the bathroom door and then glanced at him. "Mind if I go first?"

"Go ahead. Looks like Tom's going to take a while," Harry answered, trying not to think too deeply into the fact that his mother had announced the urge to take a piss. Then, as Lily headed inside, Harry backed away hurriedly, really not wanting to listen.

It was strange to think like it, but Lily was, in a very weird way, Tom's grandmother, Harry mused while rubbing the boy's side as he whined in the sling. Of course neither Lily nor Tom would know that, no one would. Even if Harry could find someone to confide in, that was something he had decided to keep to himself. He would never disclose the truth of Tom's origin to anyone either. In this world the boy would be just and only his son, his and Maia Katischnos', and nothing more.

He needed to learn Occlumency though. It wouldn't be good if Snape or Dumbledore or -- Merlin forbid -- Voldemort could just capture the information from his mind. He would also need a defence against Veritaserum and any other methods of extracting the truth from a person. Being without such defences had been fine back in his world, he hadn't known anything truly ground breaking then, except perhaps the matter of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but that had been horrible, not ground breaking. This world on other hand… Tom, himself and the library of spells that had never been invented…

Too many secrets, Harry thought with a sigh. Once more he had too many secrets.

"All yours," Lily said, as she stepped out of the bathroom. "I think you can use Molly's wipes, lotion and powder, I doubt she'd mind. She let me use them with Harry back when he was younger."

"Thanks," Harry nodded, a bit freaked out by the question if he too had visited the Burrow when he had been a baby but couldn't remember it. He shook his head and tried to get rid of the thought. Turning his eyes to Tom, he saw that the boy wasn't done yet. Lily, noticing this, apparently decided to keep him company.

"Is it hard on you, taking care of Tom alone?" she asked. "You're so young, just out of school, right?"

"I was home schooled, but yeah, if I had gone to school I would've just graduated, I think," Harry nodded. "And it's not really that hard. I have enough money to keep us going for a few years -- and I have a house-elf to help me."

"House-elf? Well, I imagine having one of those around would be useful… But you're still pretty much alone?" Lily asked, looking down at Tom. "That's rather sad… What was his mother like? Molly said she died just a little after the labour…" she glanced up, looking a bit guilty. "Or -- or do not you want to talk about her at all?"

Harry smiled and shook his head. "It's alright, I don't mind talking about Maia," he said. "She was… a fierce girl, though she was also rather weak…" He had decided to base Maia partly on Ginny and partly on Merope to give the girl he had loved and Tom's mother the respect and place in their lives which they deserved. "She was a daughter of an almost extinct pureblood family in Greece, but she never really cared much for blood…"

Lily looked at him sympathetically and then wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. "You miss her very much, don't you?"

"Yeah. I wish she was here," Harry murmured. It would have been more than a bit weird if his Ginny had been there, but it would have been easier for him. But Ginny couldn't be and, though it had been a terrible fear before, now Harry wished that she would live and find a good, honest wizard to marry back in his world. Someone who would take care of her.

"You two started expecting pretty young, though, didn't you? You're barely of age," Lily pointed out.

"We married the day after I turned seventeen," Harry chuckled somewhat sadly, guiltily. Bill's and Fleur's wedding had turned into his and Maia's wedding in his pretend past, but he doubted Bill would mind if he used it as a model. "She was bit older than me, so she was already of the age. We… foolishly forgot protection. Maia was happy though, when we found out. I think, and she feared that if we waited longer, she might be unable… well. She wanted to have a kid, even if it would take her life. She wanted to… leave a mark."

"Did you… you married knowing that she wouldn't live long, didn't you?" Lily asked with tone of amazement in her voice. Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that, but thankfully Tom took the need from him. He led out whimper which only took few seconds to break out into wails.

"Gotta go," Harry grinned sheepishly, but Lily didn't answer. Harry felt her gaze on his back even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He sighed with awkward relief and then turned all his concentration to Tom, trying to forget that he had just lied his mother's ears full. The very same mother who would have died for him. Who had in one reality.

"Daddy is going to hell, you know. Someday," he whispered to Tom conspiringly while cleaning him up. The boy grinned toothlessly in answer and grabbed hold of his glasses. Harry chuckled. "Imp. I'll take you with me," he said, snatching the spectacles from the boy's hands with his teeth before turning to the task at hand.

After a moment of thought, he snorted with the absurdity of it all. "Maybe we'll bring granddaddy Voldemort with us too," he muttered and finished what he was doing. Tom giggled at him as he finished dressing the boy and hoisted him up to his arm. "And then," Harry continued to the boy in a deathly serious voice while pushing his glasses back on with a grand motion. "We'll have a nice family picnic and roast marshmallows on the fires of damnation. Wouldn't that be fun?" he punctuated the words by poking the boy into the belly. "What do you think?"

Tom giggled again, swinging a fist towards Harry's hand. "Yeah, daddy is being silly," Harry muttered and headed out of the bathroom. Lily was gone from the corridor, but he hadn't really expected her to wait for them. Shaking away his rather ridiculous thoughts, Harry headed back to the party. He had more than enough time to think of Voldemort and damnation later.


	7. Three Broomstics

 About a week after Ginny's birthday party, Harry gave up and headed to Selene with the problem he seemed to have with the Fidelius charm, hoping that she'd be able to help him with it. The longer his books remained so unprotected, the more it bothered him and the urge to hide them had become rather pressing. Thankfully the woman seemed delighted to welcome him into her house.

"Xenophilius is out," Selene said after Harry asked after the man. "He's working on taking pictures for an article, I think. So, what is this about?" she asked while leading Harry to a kitchen where she set out to make them some tea. "You haven't started working on the Patronus bubble, have you?"

"No, this is another project of mine," Harry answered, feeling that calling it a project would be better than announcing that he wanted to make his basement a secret. "I've been trying to figure out the Fidelius charm, but I haven't had much luck. I've memorised the enchantment and the material behind it -- and I think I got all my information from the best sources possible, but… I still haven't been able to actually cast it."

"Oh. That's mighty ambitious of you, working on Fidelius. It’s one of the most difficult charms there are -- the only wizards in Britain who _can_ cast it can be counted with one hand," Selene mused while bringing out containers of tea leaves. "Any preferences for a tea blend, Harold?"

"Anything will do," Harry assured and frowned. He had not realised that the charm was _that_ difficult. Well, sure, in his world he had only ever heard of three people casting it but the book made it seem like it was not actually that hard. He had figured that he was simply too stupid to understand it. But then again if the book came from a world where wizards had actually hidden away an entire _continent_ , perhaps the book was simply a bit too high level for him.

"You know, all wizards who can cast it are pretty old. Pretty powerful. There's of course Nicolas Flamel, but he's one of the most powerful wizards in existence, being the oldest one. He has had centuries of time to build up his power and knowledge. Bathilda Bagshot is also known to be able to perform the charm. Horace Slughorn was rumoured to be able to do it, but that was actually a potion he used to hide his potions research… Oh, of course, there's also Griselda Marchbanks, but there probably isn't a spell she can't do. Albus Dumbledore, I think, was the youngest person ever to master the enchantment -- he was thirty at the time, if memory serves," Selene stopped to think. "I think that's about it… no wait, there's Flitwick too! Filius Flitwick that is, he teaches charms at Hogwarts."

Harry swallowed. He had been trying to master a charm that Albus Dumbledore had only mastered at age of thirty? But no, wait… in his world Arthur Weasley and Bill had both used the charm to hide their houses. And really, the charm hadn't seemed _that_ rare in his world, complicated yes, but it hadn't seemed this hard…

Or maybe it had seemed like that just because he had, not completely realising it, been surrounded by magical giants? There had been Dumbledore, of course, and he was one of the most powerful wizards in both Harry's old and this new world. Maybe Dumbledore had taught the enchantment to Arthur and Bill… neither of them had been in any way slow. A bit eccentric in their own way, but still…

Harry felt slight unease at the thought. He had always taken the Weasley family in a way for granted when it came to magical ability because of Ron. Ron wasn't exactly brilliant, especially when he stood beside Hermione who only had some difficulties with the Patronus charm. But now that he thought about it… hadn't Bill been somewhat of a prodigy? He had been immediately taken into the Gringotts as a Curse Breaker, straight from Hogwarts. And Mr. Weasley, in his shed in secret enchanting a car to be able to make it fly _and_ go invisible? And there was no need to mention Fred's and George's genius when it came to inventing…

"You know, I think we should ask Lily about this," Selene said while bringing the tea pot and cups to the table. "She was under Fidelius, you know, during the war. It was in the papers the whole story. Dumbledore put the entire Potter family under Fidelius with little Harry's godfather, Sirius Black as the Secret Keeper -- and then, Sirius was sent to Azkaban on false charges and…"

"Yes, I read about it," Harry nodded slowly. "Do you think she'd be able to help me?"

"She should," Selene looked at him curiously. "She didn't tell you at the birthday party? One of her three charm's mastery projects is the Fidelius charm. Very ambitious of her to try to master the charm too, but she might actually be able to pull it off. She is pretty gifted with charms."

For a moment the youth thought about it. Though the idea of spending more time with his mother was something the lonely orphan in his chest was screaming for, the logical mind of adult Harry was slowly starting to realise he actually had was worried. Would he be able to bear it? It had been hard enough meeting the Potters at the Burrow, so working alongside with his mother with something like this?

"I'll think about it," Harry eventually said rather neutrally, taking his tea and tasting it. It was a smoky tasting blend, surprisingly pleasant. "What do _you_ know about the charm, though?" he then asked.

"Well, of course I've studied," the woman said thoughtfully. "I know the theory behind it and so forth and so forth, but I obviously can't cast it. There’s a certain requirement to the charm to be able to cast it, I think, and I don't have it."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Requirement?" the _Highest Forms of Defensive Warding_ had never mentioned that.

"A proper mind for it and a reason for it… you know," the woman made a haphazard motion with her hand. "Of course there's the power requirement and knowing the spell itself, you can't cast it if you're not strong enough after all, but you need to be secretive. And I'm not. I've been told I'm too open-minded for most sorts of secrecy spells, and I tend to agree."

"Ah," Harry frowned. He hadn't considered that. He had been concentrating on the spell and the power, maybe a bit too much even. "So, it needs an emotional component," he mused, making a mental note of it. "Rather like the Patronus."

"Oh, speaking of that," Selene perked up. "You promised to teach me."

Harry started with surprise and then smiled. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" he said. "How about I'll show you after we've finished the tea? You're a smart woman; you should be able to get the hang of it pretty quickly."

After spending an hour or so teaching Selene the basics of Patronus -- she didn't manage to do it, but now had a good idea of what she had to do to make it work -- Harry headed back home where Merrit was just feeding Tom. Though Harry usually preferred to take care of Tom himself unless he was working with the garden, he left the boy to her care for now and instead headed down to the basement to go over the notes of Fidelius charm, now adding the missing element of secretiveness into the mix.

He didn't get it to work but he knew he was on the right track now.

Then, just about week after he and Selene had had their talk about the Fidelius, Harry was shocked one morning by the arrival of a letter. It was delivered by a handsome tawny owl, who made Aderyn screech threateningly, and on the envelope it bore the words: _To Mr. Harold Newman_ on the envelope. The shock was in the inside thought.

The letter was from Lily Potter.

 

_Dear Mr. Newman_

  _I hope you don't mind my little intrusion upon your daily life, I heard from Selene that you were looking into the Fidelius charm the other day. She mentioned that she had told you that I was doing Fidelius as one of my charms mastery projects too._

_In light of this, I was hoping we could meet for tea or perhaps lunch and exchange our information on the subject. I, much to my constant irritation, don't have too many acquaintances interested in charms at this level so I have no one to debate with. Even my husband is no use as he is more in to Transfiguration than to any other sort of magic. Of course, I have consulted every person capable of doing the Fidelius charm (except Nicolas Flamel who was not available) for my project but it is not the same as they already know how to do it -- for them the project is no discovery._

_If you're interested, do send me a letter at number Sixteen, Godric's Hollow._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lily Potter_

 

Harry's first reaction was the thought that he of course had to refuse. He wouldn't be able to work alongside with the mother he had never had, he would end up letting something slip no doubt! No, the temptation was too big, he simply couldn't. Even if he wanted to so much, he couldn't…

But then the thought of his books and what would happen if the wrong person got their hands on the books came to his mind and he was forced to consider it again. Learning the Fidelius was important. It was the only spell he dared to trust with this, the only powerful protective enchantment he knew well enough to actually master. Yet it was becoming obvious that he wouldn't manage it without some help. And Lily, who was studying the subject for academic purposes, probably had information in her notes that Harry was missing…

But why was she even offering this to him? She didn't know him and she sure as hell shouldn't trust him. Especially so soon after the war -- well it had been almost a year, but anyway. Harry could be a Death Eater or the son of one or some other dangerous person after her life. Though, when he thought about it, he wasn't sure if any Death Eaters would be so seriously after her, considering that the Harry Potter of this world wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, but still… well, she still defied Voldemort three times along with James…

For a moment of circling thoughts, Harry wasn't sure if he was trying to convince him not to do it or to do it. He wanted and didn't at the same time, leaving him balancing on a knife's edge without knowing which side to fall. Was the risk of temptation and possible exposure worse than the possibility that someone would discover the books and the danger in them?

Eventually Tom, the library and Harry's own past and its many risks won. With a reluctance and indecision he hadn't felt in a long while, Harry took up a parchment and quill and then wrote her back. The letter was harder to write than those Harry had once upon a time penned to his godfather but he managed. It ended up being short and to the point -- just Harry accepting the offer and pondering where they should meet. He offered the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks as possible meeting places before closing the letter and sending it off.

"Daddy is just creating a mess for himself, you know," he muttered to Tom while nervously waiting for her answer. "A huge mess." But perhaps it was best that he created it on his own conditions rather than waiting until everything went to hell, Voldemort returned and another war would begin. Because that would probably happen and Harry knew much too well that he wouldn't be able to keep himself out of it -- he wouldn't even try to.

Lily's answer came later that day. She picked the Three Broomsticks, saying that she hadn't visited the place in quite a while. She also suggested the following Saturday for a good meeting day as it was a day when her husband had a day off and therefore could watch their son.

Harry sent his affirmative answer and then started to dread the following Saturday with all his might.

 

* * *

The Three Broomsticks of this world and Harry's old world were pretty much the same, Harry mused while finding a seat in a quiet corner of the bar. It was just as warm and welcoming and just as popular as it had been -- maybe even a little bit more than it had been, actually. While Harry looked over the happy people in the bar, he wondered if they were _still_ celebrating Voldemort's death.

 With a chuckle, Harry waved Madam Rosmerta closer. He had been more than slightly relieved to see that she was still around in this universe, though she was younger than Harry had ever seen her. The Three Broomsticks just wouldn't have felt right without the woman. "I'd like a cup of tea," he said to the busty barkeeper. "With two sugars, please."

"Alright. I'll be back with you in a moment, dear," the woman winked at him and then headed away, ignoring a whistle coming from a nearby table full of wizards. Harry grinned, remembering the few times he had met Rosmerta in his world and, most of all, Ron's one sided affection for her. It seemed like Rosmerta was popular in any world.

The tea was, just like just about anything in three broomsticks, good but while stirring it to mix the sugar, Harry wondered if he should have ordered butterbeer instead. It seemed like it had been ages since he had gotten a proper Three Broomsticks butterbeer. Shaking his head, he took a sip. He could order a bottle and take it home with him when he left, he thought while pulling out a pocket watch -- a muggle one as he still couldn't read those wizard ones. It was about the time for their arranged meeting.

Then he could hear something over the noise of the other customers of the bar. A rumbling noise came from outside and, his heart leaping into his throat, Harry knew what caused the sound. Considering that he had fought Death Eaters and Voldemort and lost his beloved owl while listening to that sound, it was impossible for him to forget it.

It was the sound of a motorbike. And, though for a wild moment Harry tried to assure himself that it was another, unknown motorbike, he knew that there was only one in existence that could be seen in magical areas. The one that had belonged to his godfather in his own reality.

Harry forced to keep his eyes on his tea and not look up with the desperation he felt, as the door opened. Madam Rosmerta greeted the newcomers. "For heaven's sake, do you really have to bring that noisy thing here, Sirius?" she asked with exasperation. "Can't you Apparate or use the Floo line normal people?"

"Sorry Rosmerta," spoke a voice so familiar and yet so strange and Harry's heart ached. _His_ Sirius's voice had been rougher, raspier… and hollow. This one was warm and full of life. "I'm just giving Mrs. Potter here a ride."

"My apologies Rosmerta, but I just entered the third trimester. I can't Apparate or use the Floo safely anymore," Lily's voice spoke with a light laugh. "So Sirius here, ever trying to be the gentleman, offered to save me from the Knight Bus."

"I don't _try_ anything. I _am a_ _perfect_ gentleman," Sirius said indignantly but no one listened to him.

"Well, I suppose that is a good thing. The Knight Bus… that thing is just lethal at times," Rosmerta answered. "Well then, what are you having Lily?"

"I'm meeting someone… oh, there he is. Mr. Newman!" Lily called.

Harry, who had been listening to the short conversation with the rigidness of someone waiting for the Dementor's Kiss, no longer had any choice but to look up. Lily was wearing soft brown coloured robes that had been tailored to fit around her bulging belly, and her hair was once more tied in a loose bun, but Harry barely saw her.

Sirius was standing behind her and the difference of twelve years and Azkaban was astonishing. His eyes weren't haunted, his cheeks weren't hollow and in no way did he resemble the starved person Harry had loved, tried to protect and then lost. This Sirius was young, full of life and painfully handsome -- and in Harry's mind like a mockery of all the things the prisoner of Azkaban had lost.

"Have you been waiting for long?" Lily asked, making her way over to him and startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"Ah, no, not at all. I just arrived about five minutes ago, I think," Harry answered hurriedly, tearing his eyes away from Sirius. It was painfully fitting that seeing Sirius was harder than meeting Lily and James had been. Harry had _known_ Sirius and yet this one was nothing like that man and never would be. In a weird way Harry wanted nothing but to get up, hug the other man and tell him never to die, and at the same time he wanted to hit him and berate him for having a better life than Harry's godfather had had.

"Well, alright then," Lily said. "Little Thomas not with you?" she then asked curiously.

"He's being babysat by my house-elf," Harry chuckled. "I thought it would be better not to bring an irritated, teething baby to a place as noisy as this one," he answered, somewhat relieved by her question. It was easier to turn his thoughts to his son and to all the reasons why he couldn't greet Sirius in any way.

"He's already teething?" Lily asked with surprise. "How old is Thomas now?"

"Sixteen weeks," Harry answered with a sigh. It was incredibly to think it, but he had been in this world for almost three months already. Time flew past way too fast when you had a baby. "And getting noisier every week."

"Wait until he'll starts to learn how to walk and talk," the woman chuckled and then glanced at Sirius who had yet to leave -- who had in fact stepped closer and was now eyeing Harry curiously. "Oh. This is Sirius," Lily said to Harry, motioning at the elder man. "He went to Hogwarts with my husband and myself. He gave me a ride here on his motorbike."

"Oh?" Harry asked. It was harder to look back at Sirius than it had been to look away from him. "A bike? I would have thought that those things wouldn't work this close to Hogwarts."

"It's been tweaked a little bit," Sirius grinned and winked -- and Harry's heart leapt to his throat painfully. Then, much to the younger man's horror, Sirius offered him his hand. "Sirius Black, at your service" he introduced himself.

Forcing himself to his feet and to grasp the hand was amongst the hardest things Harry had done in this world. "Harold Newman. How do you do," he answered and forced himself to squeeze the others hand briefly before pulling his back.

"Well then, Lily, what time will I pick you up?" Sirius turned to Lily and glanced at his wristwatch -- this one with a face like those of magical pocket watches. "Or do you want to take the Knight Bus?"

"I'd prefer that you'd pick me up," Lily answered, glancing at Harry who had sat down again. "Two hours should be plenty, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think that works well," Harry nodded, relieved that it wouldn't have to be longer and wondering if he could time it so that he could leave before Sirius came back to pick Lily up.

"Alright then, I'll see you in two hours’ time," Sirius said, taking Lily's hand and kissing the back of it with an elaborate bow. "Be safe, mother of my godson, and no cheating on James."

"Oh, go away," Lily muttered, giving the other a half-hearted shove before sitting down across from Harry, whose eye sneaked a lingering look towards Sirius's retreating back before he determinately looked away. Lily, not noticing Harry's stiffness or the oddness of his mood, called Rosmerta over to get a cup of tea as well.

"Well then, about the Fidelius," she spoke, taking out a wad of parchments from her inner pocket while Harry quickly reached for his shrunken bundle of notes. "How much do you know about the spell involved?"

"The original spell was in Gaelic but it was translated into English about five hundred years ago," Harry said while quickly waving his wand over his notes to turn them to their natural size. "The spell actually turned more complicated because of the translation, but these days it's the only version left as the original notes of Fidelius were secreted away… and have been lost ever since."

The _Highest Forms of Defensive Warding_ did have the Gaelic form of Fidelius too, but it was no help to Harry who couldn't understand Gaelic.

"Yes," Lily nodded, thanking Rosmerta who had just brought the asked for tea to her and then turning to her notes. "I've just recently found out that there are two ways of casting it. Albus Dumbledore actually invented the newer form but it hasn't been tested yet."

"Newer form?" Harry asked with surprise.

"Well, usually the spell requires three components. There is the secret. There is the caster. And finally there is a Secret Keeper. However, with the new method Dumbledore created, the caster can make himself -- or herself -- into the Secret Keeper."

Harry's eyes widened before he hurriedly pulled out the parchments where he had copied the Fidelius and reading through them. Right… of course. The spell he had also demanded three parts, but Harry had assumed otherwise as he _knew_ that Dumbledore had once upon a time in another world cast the spell and made himself the Secret Keeper. Harry had naturally assumed that he could do it too, but the only method he had, aside from the Gaelic version he couldn't decipher, required the three components and the spell caster couldn't be the secret keeper.

Was that why he had failed in all of his attempts to cast the spell so far, because he had tried to force the spell to accept him as the secret keeper? And why wasn't the new method anywhere in his special books? Unless… Dumbledore had never, in any world, written it down…

He looked up. "You wouldn't happen to have the two part Fidelius's enchantment with you?"

"I have the model," Lily said, taking out a slip of parchment from the messily bound notes and handing it to him. "Like I said, Dumbledore hasn't finalized it yet. He's positive that he can make it work but it hasn't been completely tested yet…"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, scanning through the spell quickly. "Do you mind if I copied this?" he then asked.

"I don't, but Albus might. It's his spell after all," Lily said apologetically. "I can ask him, though."

"Hm… I'd appreciate it," Harry nodded, trying to press the changes Dumbledore had made into his mind and wondering if he should get a pensive. The mind remembered details consciousness didn't always remember after all, but a Pensieve could bring them out.

"Have you ever been within the influence of a Fidelius charm?" Lily asked as Harry handed the parchment back to her.

At first Harry was going to answer yes, as he had indeed been under it a few times. But then, remembering that there were only so many people in Britain known to be able to cast it, he decided otherwise. "No, though I have read old tales and reports of the spell, and it's effect," he said and then eyed the woman thoughtfully. "Selene said that you and your husband went under it during the war."

"Yes. Albus Dumbledore cast it over our house when we became Voldemort's targets," she answered. There was something sharp in her eyes as she looked at him, like trying to figure out his reaction. "Of course the charm was removed a few weeks after the war officially ended, but having Fidelius cast over a house doesn't hinder the possibility of secreting it again."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the words. They sounded like a threat somehow, though it was possibly the weirdest threat he had ever heard. But why would Lily threaten him? "That I know -- it's repeated in many of the books I've studied," he nodded slowly, though truthfully there were only three books in his library which spoke about the Fidelius -- advanced books all of them. "What was it like, being under it?" he asked.

Lily looked at him searchingly for a moment before starting to explain the experience of being hidden in a Fidelied house. Harry of course knew all about it, but he wasn't about to say that. Instead he took out a quill with never-ending ink and made pretence by writing notes.

The rest of the meeting went similarly. They threw back and forth ideas and bits of knowledge they had, Harry making a few hurried notes about what Lily told him that he had not yet found out himself. Lily did similarly when Harry told her that when a secret keeper died, all privy to the secret became secret keepers in turn, which weakened the Fidelius. This, surprisingly enough, shocked her. What seemed to have been a somewhat well-known fact in Harry's world was completely unknown to her.

Was this the difference in years? Did some odd dozen years really change things this much? Harry had known, ever since realising the true worth of his books, that there was a chance that he knew spells and magic that had never been invented here, but Fidelius was something the two worlds shared, yet it was different. It was harder here. Or was it that the people, who tried used it, were weaker? Or… was powerful magic like the Fidelius solely kept in the hands of powerful magicians? A secret no average wizards were privy to? Or had the years really advanced the spell so much in Harry's original world?

In the end their talk concluded in just less than two hours, leaving both of them with lot to think about. Harry excused himself there, profusely apologising for not keeping Lily company while she waited for her friend. She accepted the apology and told him to please send a letter if he figured out something new and then, hurriedly for he had heard the motorbike, Harry made his way to the fireplace and Flooed to the Waldgrave cottage.

There he sought out his son and spent a good amount of time just holding the boy against his chest while Tom slumbered away peacefully. Trying not to think of Sirius and Lily and the differences between the worlds, he reminded himself why he couldn't have much contact with Sirius at this time, or the Potters for that matter. It would be best that he and Lily would continue this working relationship for only as long as it took for Harry to master the Fidelius. After that… it would be better to keep his distance.

Harry looked up as Nightmare jumped to the backrest of the sofa where he lay with Tom. The cat looked down at him for a moment before settling herself there, watching him and Tom with sharp eyes.

 "I'm keeping lot of secrets. Do you think that makes me untrustworthy?" Harry asked, reaching out to offer his hand to her. Nightmare blinked slowly before reaching out and sniffing his fingers cautiously. Then she nuzzled her face against his hand. "I'll take that as a no," Harry murmured and pet her slightly messy fur that seemed to be an uneven length everywhere.

"You're keeping secrets, Mr. Newman?" Hugh asked carefully from the nearby corner. "Why?"

"Because some things are best not known," Harry answered before spending a moment thinking about the words. "Yes, that's about right," he muttered. Not all spells in his books were dangerous, but most of them were unknown and advanced. Keeping watch over them was important, but… some of the spells could do some good. Like the Mother's Milk Charm which was slowly but steadily convincing the Lovegoods to have more children.

As Tom took a deep breath in his sleep and then sighed contently against Harry's chest, the young man decided that once he had the Fidelius safely up, he would go through the books and see about spells and such that might be of use to the people of this world and were safe enough to release. How he would release them was another thing though.

"Harold Newman, the spell inventor," Harry muttered and smiled down at Tom. Taking the credit for creating the spells would be wrong… but a whole lot safer than trying to explain where he got them and how they came to be. "That doesn't have a bad ring to it, does it?"

The baby didn't answer. Harry took it as a sign that the boy agreed with him.


	8. Hogs Head

When Tom started showing signs of starting to grow teeth, Harry had been both happy and slightly worried because he had read that teething babies could be just a little bit… irritated. It hadn't been bad until the moment when the boy's whitened bottom gum finally opened to show the smallest bit of white tooth. Then it got… bad. And loud.

Almost every moment Tom was awake he was either whining or crying, unless Harry managed to distract him somehow but as much as he did that, he didn't have the energy to spend the entire day playing with Tom or trying to come up with ways of easing the pain for the boy. Tom wasn't all that keen on drinking something cool even if it would have numbed the pain and biting down to the toys Harry had got for him only seemed to help so much. On top of the constant irritation, Tom woke up more often in the night, stressed and annoyed even though he wasn't in need of a change or feeding.

"It's like that with some kids," Molly assured him when Harry worried over if Tom was a bit too irritated by the whole thing. She was over for tea, little Ginny with her this time. "Bill, Percy and Ron all were very fussy when they were teething, Bill and Ron both could go on for nights while Percy was irritated for weeks. Charlie and the twins on other hand didn't seem to have any pains during teething, though they were keen on chewing just about anything they could reach. Ginny was like that too. It differs between kids."

"So, it's normal?" Harry asked while eyeing Tom. The boy was laying on a blanket on the sitting room floor, biting into a light blue teething ring and eyeing Ginny suspiciously like he was thinking she was about to steal the ring. Ginny however seemed content to stare at the younger child in amazement.

"Pretty much," the woman nodded. "There are some potions and such that can be lathered onto a toy -- like that ring he has -- which will numb some of the pain, but I never used them after Bill got stomach pains from one of them."

"I don't want to use potions either," the young man muttered thoughtfully.

"Well, feeding him some chilled food and such can help. Cold pumpkin sauce maybe, Bill loved that when he was teething. Or, if Thomas doesn't like chilled food, then just rubbing the gums might help too. That sometimes got Ron to quiet down," Molly frowned. "That might've been why Fred and George were so quiet, both sucked their thumb around the time they were teething…"

Harry grinned slightly. Oh, how he would've loved to know _that_ back in his world. "I'll try the cold pumpkin sauce and rubbing the gums," he then said. "If he doesn't like it, I'll try to figure out something else."

Molly nodded and eyed him thoughtfully. "He's been keeping you up during nights, huh?" she then asked, noticing the dark circles under Harry's eyes.

"Hmm," Harry nodded, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "Merrit offered to take care of it, but I prefer to do it myself," he said. "Thank Merlin I don't have to work or anything right now, though. I'd be dead if I did need to."

The woman chuckled. "I can imagine that," she muttered. "You're doing admirable work as a parent, though."

"Tch. Nothing like you. I'd probably go insane if I were in your position. Seven children…" Harry shuddered. "I don't think I'd survive that."

"Yes, well. I have Arthur helping me. And I can sometimes make the older kids watch the younger ones," Molly laughed. "And with Bill and Charlie both in Hogwarts already, the house isn't so full during the semesters, thank the gods."

Harry chuckled, running his hand through his hair to get the longest strands out of his face. Though he’d had the long hair for a few months now, he still wasn't quite adjusted to it. "It's strange to think that Tom too will go to Hogwarts one day," he mused while eyeing his son. His _son_. How strange it was that the thought had become so natural, so _right_ in such a short time. "He's so small now."

"Cherish it," Molly advised with a somewhat sad shake of her head. "They grow up way too fast. Before you know it he'll be pestering you for pocket money. And a new broom. And a subscription to a Quidditch magazine. Especially now, with the World Cup and everything."

Harry chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind," he promised, though he knew he'd be relieved when Tom was finally be old enough to be weaned off the nightly feeding sessions.

Tom's irritation made it pretty much impossible for Harry to concentrate on the Fidelius problem completely. The boy was awake more than usual and fussy because of that and every time he lost the teething ring he started to whine, forcing Harry tear his concentration from his studies in order to fetch it for him. By the time the first weekend of September came, Harry was starting to figure out why new parents were often stressed.

"Merrit," Harry half groaned to the house-elf, after he had finally managed to ease the boy to sleep. "I'm going to take a break. Watch over Tom for the evening, alright?"

"Yes, Master Harold," the house-elf answered, looking at him worriedly. "Are you going to be gone for long?"

"A few hours, I should be back before it gets dark," Harry said. In his mind he could see the casual, relaxing atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks and the temptation of the fake strength and courage of Firewhiskey. He hadn't had a glass in ages, but he could still remember its effect. It, he knew, was just what he needed tonight.

After he had changed his casual robes into slightly nicer ones, Harry headed out. After moment of breathing in the sweet evening air and trying to shed the tension from his shoulders, he Disapparated to Hogsmeade. There he Apparated to the main street, not far from the Three Broomsticks. Even from afar he could see that it was probably full of customers.

Harry hesitated for a moment. He wanted to relax for a moment and he doubted that the noise of the popular bar would give him that. Yet the idea of going to the Hog's Head, all the while knowing the heavy history of the Dumbledores, was a bit worrisome. But… the bar was quiet and peaceful in a slightly on-the-edge way.

Shaking his head, knowing that it was better to face challenges like this head on, Harry headed towards the Hog's Head. The place was just like it had been in the other world. Small, shadowy, dirty and only inhabited by people who seemed most content not showing their faces. Aberforth, though he was a good fifteen years younger than the last time Harry had seen the man, was just the same, cleaning the counter with a rag that was even dirtier than it was.

The fact that Harry came to the bar with his hood down and his face clearly shown seemed to cause a slightest bit of suspicion in the old bartender. Harry, glad that he had made it a habit to conceal his scar every morning, made no note of it as he walked to the counter.

"Firewhiskey," he asked and after Aberforth had filled a rather dirty glass with the spirit, he paid for it. With a final look at Aberforth, Harry found a seat near a window and sat down.

How strange it was to think back to all the times he had been here. First with Dumbledore's Army. It felt like ages since then, yet in this world it never had, and possibly never would happen. Aberforth had been watching their meeting rather intently then, and now Harry had to wonder if he had told his brother about it. Dumbledore had been rather informed about the thing… well, it was possible that Sirius and Remus had told him too…

Harry smiled faintly and took a sip of the Firewhiskey. Just like he remembered, it seared right through him and warmed him in ways that had to be magical. The day's stress seemed to melt away instantly, burned away by the spirit. But, unlike back when he had drank for Mad-Eye's honour, this time it gave him not courage, but strength. Now, with the whiskey burning in his belly, it felt silly to have been vexed so badly by a _baby_ of all things.

Eyeing the glass thoughtfully, Harry wondered what had happened to Aberforth after he had, well, died in his own world. Had he lived, had he died? As his thoughts threatened to head down a path that let into guilt and depression, Harry tore them back to the present and took another sip. He had left that world behind in order to take the Hallows away, in order to steal Voldemort's powerful wand. It had been a… cowardly decision, but it had been made. And he would not regret it.

Still he felt sorry and hoped that the people in his world had managed to win. If Neville had managed to take out the snake, Voldemort would have turned mortal once more. Harry hadn't been their best fighter… maybe… hopefully Kingsley or someone had managed to finish his job for him.

For a while Harry entertained that idea. Neville cutting down Nagini, Kingsley killing Voldemort, and the fight ending victorious for their side. And, after the battles, Kingsley would become the minister. He would do an excellent job with it. Hermione would find the Pensieve and Snape's memories and look through them -- she would understand… she was smart, she would even piece together the bits and pieces about the Hallows. With the Elder Wand and the Cloak of Invisibility either gone or destroyed, she would understand…

Maybe they'd even forgive him. Maybe they'd give him a nice burial. Where would they bury him though? Being buried next to Dumbledore would've been a breath taking honour… but part of him wanted to be laid to rest in Godric's Hollow. Like he had wanted back when seeing his parents graves, to be resting under the ground with them, sleeping… Yes. They should bury _Snape_ beside Dumbledore. Severus Snape had been more of Dumbledore's man that Harry had ever been.

The poor sod, Harry thought grimly and glanced out of the dirty window. Then he raised the glass almost into a toast before taking a sip. To Severus Snape, Dumbledore's Man, he thought. Hopefully the bastard had met his mother in the afterlife. Hopefully he had gotten his peace.

From there Harry toasted every gulp of the Firewhiskey to someone. To Remus Lupin, to Nymphadora Tonks, to Fred Weasley, to Dobby, to Ted Tonks, to Bathilda Bagshot… he would've even toasted Grindelwald and Gregorovitch but he ran out of whiskey. But that was corrected by ordering another shot. Before he could toast Grindelwald though, he started to ponder the man.

Had he regretted? In Harry's world the man had been in prison for over fifty years after he had lost the duel to Albus Dumbledore. Here it was fifteen years less, but even so… it was an incredibly long time. Had he regretted the things he had done -- had he regretted Ariana's death, had he regretted the fall out he’d had with Dumbledore? Had he wondered… what it would've been like if things had gone differently?

If nothing else, the man's last act on Harry's world had been to protect his old friend, his ideals and his tomb. Grindelwald could have given away the secret, and Voldemort would have let him live perhaps, but… he hadn't. And though it was logical that as an old Dark Lord, one that had had decades worth of time to regret, he had wished to stop the new Dark Lord from grasping the unbeatable wand, Harry was certain that it was not the wand, but the tomb in which it had been laid, that the man had tried to protect.

Though Harry suspected that Grindelwald's body had been just burned and forgotten, he found himself wishing that someone would have known and understood like he had… and buried the man beside Dumbledore. With a sad smile, the once-Boy-Who-Lived raised his glass and drank for Lord Grindelwald.

The silent toasting continued -- and then stopped abruptly as Harry came to Sirius. When trying to recall Sirius's face like he had been able to easily recall everyone else's faces, even Gregorovitch's and Grindelwald's… Sirius's face didn't come to his mind. No, the face that came to his mind belonged to the younger, healthier Sirius who had spent only two months in Azkaban. The haunted thin face of Harry's godfather… it wouldn't come forward.

With an internal pang of guilt and grief, Harry realised that he had forgotten what his godfather's face looked like. Desperately trying to push away the face of the younger Sirius, Harry clung to the memory of his godfather and drank the rest of the Firewhiskey with one gulp. Then he swore that the moment he got back home, he would tear through his library for memory magic and extract every single memory he had of his godfather. He had empty crystal phials, he could store the memories in them until he found a way to acquire a Pensieve.

"Better make it everybody," he muttered to himself, eyeing the empty glass like it was keeping something from him. Yes he would take memories of everyone. Hermione, Ron, Remus, Tonks… everyone. Keeping memories like that, in bottles, would be dangerous but once he got the Fidelius working it would be fine. And this way he would never forget what they looked like, what they were _like_.

"Seems like someone's had a bad day," a voice spoke almost from straight behind him and Harry nearly grabbed his wand and shot a stunning spell at the speaker before realising that he knew the voice. It was slightly slurred but there was no way for him not to know that voice -- especially since the speaker had just been occupying his thoughts. "You're that… that Newman guy, right? The one who had a date with Lily flower."

Slowly Harry turned to look over his shoulder, realising faintly how bad an idea it was to leave his back towards the door. Sirius Black was standing behind him, obviously a little bit drunk as he tried to keep his balance by leaning onto his companion. Remus Lupin, wearing patched up robes like usual with his surprisingly long hair tied at the back of his neck, seemed slightly less drunk than Sirius.

"Mr. Black, was it?" Harry asked with slightly choked up voice and hoped that they'd think it was because he had been drinking. "And it wasn't a date," he then felt the need to point out. "It was a business meeting."

"Uhhuh," Sirius said and struggled to sit down across from Harry. He almost fell from his seat. "Bisnes meeting about babies and secrecy spells. Makes me wonder if you had something to hide…" he gave Harry a mockingly suspicious look which completely failed because he didn't manage to hold back a giggle-like sound. "He's Remus Lupin, by the way," he then introduced the werewolf who was looking like he wasn't sure what he was doing there. "He's my petrol offerer."

"It's parole officer and I'm not, I'm just watching you to make sure you don't light anything on fire. Again," Lupin sighed, giving Harry an apologetic look. "Do you mind if we sit here? Rosmerta kicked Sirius out of the Three Broomsticks."

"I wonder why," Harry said rather amusedly, eyeing Sirius thoughtfully. The drunken man was trying to crane his neck to see the bartender. "And I don't mind, go ahead and sit," he assured, motioning Lupin to sit down just as Sirius barked "Firewhiskers!" at Aberforth. Harry snorted.

"You wouldn't believe how little it takes him to get drunk," Lupin muttered, eyeing Sirius with distaste as the other waved three fingers demandingly at the bartender. The werewolf snorted. "Purebloods, can't hold their liquor."

"Oh?" Harry asked curiously. It was the first time he had heard that.

"It's the whole thing with blood stuff," Sirius explained seriously. "My old hag mum said that we're like fancy breed of… of… what was it… some sort of fancy animals anyway. So, we're like a breed of fancy animals. You can't just feed any sort of crap to us. Because we're fancy animals."

"Thus, they don't hold their liquor," Lupin said and sighed heavily while reaching for Sirius's money pouch to pay for the Firewhiskeys Aberforth brought them. "Here," he said, handing the third glass to Harry while the bartender took Harry's empty glass and headed away. "So, you're the guy Lily spoke of, the one who's trying to crack Fidelius."

"Still wondering if he has something to hide," Sirius added, again trying to look at Harry suspiciously.

Harry snorted again. Despite everything, seeing Sirius act like this was hilarious. "Everyone has something to hide, Mr. Black," he said, raising his glass. "And yeah," he said to Lupin. "That would be me, I suppose. Though saying that I'm trying to crack Fidelius is making it sound like the spell's a logic puzzle or something."

"Well, it is a difficult bit of charm work," Lupin shrugged and took a sip of his Firewhiskey.

"So. What drove you to drinking?" Sirius asked, eyeing his glass thoughtfully. "And this place too. Dirty glasses and everything, ugh… good memories though. But still, not my first choice for a place to have a glass. Why not the Three Broomsticks?"

"Too many people," Harry shrugged, swearing that this conversation would go into a vial if he managed to learn how to extract memories. "And my son's been a bit… irritable lately. I wanted a break."

"Teething," Sirius said with air of someone who had answered an important question correctly. Remus gave him odd look, making him shrug his shoulders. "Well that's what he said when he was meeting Lily flower. Teething."

"Your kid, huh… Thomas was it?" Remus asked. "Lily told me," he explained when Harry raised his eyebrows. "There are ways of making teething easier though."

"I don't want to use potions and Tom doesn't like drinking anything cool. Won't eat cold pumpkin sauce either," Harry sighed. "Only thing that seems to help him is the teething ring but that doesn't really help with the pain much."

 "Have you thought of putting cooling charm to the teething ring?" Remus asked. "I used that that on Harry back when he was teething, whenever Lily and James asked me to baby sit him. Of course the charm has to be faint and it doesn't last longer than little while, but it seemed to help."

Harry blinked with wonder and sat up straighter. He hadn't thought of that. "I need to try that the next time he gets fussy," he sighed. "Why couldn't I have thought of that days ago, I could've saved myself some stress…"

"You learn something new every day," Sirius said sagely before narrowing his eyes once more in suspicion. "Are you a pureblood?" he then asked, pointing at Harry's hand. "Because that looks like a pureblood thingy."

Harry looked down to his hand with confusion and then realised what Sirius meant. He was pointing at the Peverell ring which Harry always wore on his right middle finger. Harry chuckled mirthlessly and straightened the ring on his finger. "Something like that," he muttered and then eyed the ring thoughtfully. "Ugly, isn't it?"

"Most pureblood thingies are," the drunken man nodded solemnly and hiccupped. "They're either ugly or horrible or dark or some stuff like that. Except the Weasleys and people like that -- they're cool. And not ugly or horrible or dark."

Harry snorted again before grasping his Firewhiskey and holding the glass up for toast. "To non-ugly, horrible or dark pureblood thingies," he said, and Sirius happily clinked his almost empty glass against Harry's nearly full one. Remus didn't join the toast, eyeing the Peverell ring with a thoughtful look about his face before snorting at their antics.

"I think you're alright, Newman, even if you have stuff to hide," Sirius mumbled after emptying his glass. "And even if you wear one ugly ring."

"Thanks, that means so much to me," Harry muttered with a grin. It actually did, but he wasn't going to say that with a serious face.

Drinking with Sirius and Lupin was, to say at least, strange, but it was also enjoyable. Sirius was a somewhat happy drunk, a little twisted one too. He kept throwing suspicious looks at Harry and then at the other patrons in the bar and then at the bartender and finally at his glass, muttering something about poison. Lupin, even after a bit of intoxication, was an intelligent conversationalist as always and over Sirius's muttering about ugly pureblood relics and loud hags, he and Harry talked about the Fidelius charm and Lily's charm's mastery. At least up until the point where Sirius started to boast about how he charmed a motorbike to fly when he was seventeen.

While they talked Harry stalled his drinking as much as he could and while Sirius ordered seconds for himself and Lupin, Harry still had half of his left. It wouldn't do to get a loose tongue around these two, after all. Still he enjoyed the talk, chuckling with Lupin at Sirius who was trying to remember the exact charm he had used on the exhaust pipe of his motorbike.

"The engin's a work of art, thou'!" Sirius would exclaim every now and then. "Best bit of charm work I've done since the map, best bit of charm work…"

While listening to this, Harry marvelled at all the things he hadn't known about his godfather. He had known that Sirius had been brilliant at school, that he had indeed charmed the motorbike and that he had a hand in the creation of the Marauder's Map. Now he realised how shallow that well of information was. Only while listening to the man's drunken slurring about the multilevel charm work in the bike, how he had taken it apart to charm every bit of it… only now Harry realised that Sirius wasn't just _brilliant_.

That made Harry wonder if the Azkaban thing hadn’t happened in Harry's original reality… what would Sirius have become? Arthur Weasley was over forty back in Harry's world when he’d charmed the Ford Anglia, Sirius had been only seventeen when he had charmed the motorbike. If Sirius had been allowed to continue… no, that was the wrong way of putting it. This Sirius before Harry _now_ was allowed to continue. He had his whole life ahead of him. What would _he_ become?

"Have you charmed any other things like that?" Harry asked curiously, wondering if Sirius had been -- _was_ \-- a magical inventor in the making.

"Some," Sirius said with fake modesty. "But the engin's my work of art!"

Lupin laughed. "He's starting to sound like a badly broken record," he said. "I think it's time we quit for the evening, don't you think, Sirius?"

"But I was just getting to the good part!"

"You've repeated the good part a few times now," Lupin answered. "Finish up your glass, why don't you? Then we can head out of here. It's getting late anyway."

Harry, though he was a bit disappointed that Sirius wasn't up to telling him of the other things he had probably made, agreed with Lupin. It was getting late and he should've been back at home hours ago. Time had really flew while talking with the two Marauders. "I should get going too," Harry said and drained the last of his drink before standing up -- or trying to. It was shock to find out that he was actually swaying a little. It was a novel experience, as Harry had never drank enough to feel the effects of it. "I wonder if there's a sobering charm…"

"If there was, I'd love to learn it," Lupin muttered while dragging Sirius to his feet -- or trying anyway. Sirius, who was reaching for his glass again, wasn't really helping him. "Come _on_ , Sirius, you great lump of dog slobber. Time to get going."

"Nuu…" Sirius whined, trying to take another drink of his glass which was empty. Disappointedly he put it down before looking around to find Aberforth. "I'll just order one more…"

"No more, I'm not waiting until you pass out again. Come on!"

Harry chuckled and went to help him to get Sirius up. Together they more or less swayed out of the Hog's head, snickering at Sirius who had started to mumble; "Nobody knows the sorrows I have seen…" completely off-tone.

"Do you think you'll manage to Apparate him too?" Harry asked Lupin once they were out of the bar.

"I should be fine, it's not the first time," the other snorted, trying to not to fall down under Sirius's weight. "Will you manage, Newman?"

"I've Apparated under worse conditions," Harry snorted, waving the matter aside. "It was nice talking to you two. Take care."

"Yeah, you too," Lupin nodded and then vanished with a pop, taking a humming Sirius with him. Harry looked after them for a moment before laughing under his breath at the whole thing before Dissapparating too.

He reappeared in his lawn to see that there were still lights on. Apparently Merrit hadn't gone to bed yet. Stumbling over the few steps of his porch, Harry fumbled the door open before struggling out of his shoes, heading to the sitting room and almost collapsing on Nightmare who lay stretched out on the sofa.

"You were a bit longer than couple of hours then?" Hugh asked while Nightmare struggled free from under Harry's arm. The ghost was peering at him from the ceiling, only his head and neck visible

"Met some people, got caught up," Harry grumbled as the black cat hissed at him angrily. "Come on, Nightmare, don't be such a fussy little kitty. I didn't mean to hit you," he mumbled, turning over to his back and lifting the cat to his stomach before setting out to reconcile with her by scratching her neck. "Merrit?" he called.

"Master Harold?" the elf asked carefully from the doorway leading to the kitchen. She was holding a cloth she usually used to dry the dishes after washing, so apparently she had still been doing some chores.

"Where's Tom?"

"Little Master is sleeping in Master's bedroom. Merrit has a monitoring charm on Little Master."

"Good. Could you watch over him for the night, tend to him when he wakes up?" Harry asked with a yawn much to the annoyance of Nightmare who sneezed at him in retaliation. Harry snorted at her and glanced at the elf. "I don't think he'd approve me smelling like Firewhiskey." Neither did Nightmare by the looks of it.

"Merrit will watch over the Little Master," the elf promised before hesitating. "Little Master has a bit of nappy rash," she then said carefully. "Merrit thinks that it's time to get bigger nappies for Little Master. He has grown out of the old ones."

"Alright, I'll give you some money tomorrow so that you can go and buy some right sized ones. Thanks for letting me know," Harry nodded, shifting into more comfortable position on the couch and eyeing Nightmare who, despite the slightly annoyed fluttering of the end of her partially hairless tail, was leaning onto him and lazily kneading his chest. "You aren't really mad at me," Harry muttered at her. "You just like to act annoyed."

The cat huffed an irritated breath at him before settling down on his stomach. Soon she started to purr roughly.

While listening to it, Harry's mind drifted back to Sirius and Remus and all the things they'd be in this world that they didn't get to be in Harry's. He wondered if Sirius would start a business of flying motorbikes. It could be interesting; Harry had rather liked the motorbike the one time he remembered riding it. It had saved his life after all. Having one like it for himself could be interesting -- as flying was pretty much the only form of travel he actually liked. Unless it was on a dragon, that hadn't been too much fun.

Soon Harry started to drift into dreams of a world which was ruled by Dumbledore and Grindelwald where Sirius was a flying mechanic and Voldemort owned a cooled teething ring factory.


	9. Secrets Over Icecream

 

To Harry's surprise, the spell for extracting memories was rather simple and after a few hours of practice Harry even managed to do it without the Elder Wand. After extracting a few memories about his godfather and storing them in the few phials he had, he sent Aderyn away with an order for four dozen phials. He had many memories that he didn't want to lose, many faces and events he never wanted to forget.

After spending the entire weekend extracting memories, Harry spent his whole Monday with locking charms and protection charms. His memories, he felt, were even more dangerous than his books so the drawers where he put them in his basement were worth more than little extra attention. He knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he had the basement Fidelied but for now the security charms he had learned and cast would have to do.

On Tuesday Harry's luck turned in many ways. While he was renewing the cooling charm on Tom's teething ring and wondering if there was a way of making it semi-permanent, the tawny owl of the Potters came, bearing a letter. It was, like Harry had suspected, from Lily, suggesting another meeting. But this time, he wouldn't be meeting Lily alone. Albus Dumbledore had offered to join them, wishing to meet Harry.

It didn't take more than few seconds Harry to realise how utterly bad the idea was. It was _Dumbledore_ after all. It wasn't like with the Potters and Sirius, Dumbledore had been Harry's mentor in more ways than just as the headmaster of his school back in his world. Though this Dumbledore didn't know Harry, Harry knew him -- possibly in ways no one else truly had. Even Aberforth didn't know everything about Grindelwald and knew nothing of the Hallows. And the meeting in the ghostly King's Cross… ever since then Harry had _understood_ in way he never had before, and sometimes it frankly scared him. No one was supposed to know people as well as Harry knew Dumbledore, Snape and Voldemort, but Harry still did and he couldn't exactly _Obliviate_ himself.

Cracking his knuckles in thought, Harry paced up and down the length of his sitting room. Dumbledore could probably teach him how to cast the Fidelius, if nothing else Harry would leap forward with his studies immensely, but the risk was still there. Dumbledore was a _Legilimens_ and one damn good guesser at that, and Harry feared what would happen if the man would start guessing him.

He couldn't forget Dumbledore's manipulative tendencies. The man tried very hard to be good, but he still had darkness in his heart that made him… unreadable and unpredictable. Though Harry loved Dumbledore dearly, part of him was still appalled at what the man had made Snape do. Harry knew in his heart of hearts, like Dumbledore had so well put it, that he too had been manipulated by the man. The man had led him towards his own death from the moment he had stepped into the Wizarding world! Harry had understood that and forgiven, but he had still learned. He knew what to expect now…

But that hardly put his mind at ease. Harry wasn't sure how he would act around the alternate self of his mentor, given how much he knew about the man, and Dumbledore's talent with Legilimency… it was possible that the man could use it nonverbally and without a wand, to some extent at least.

But Harry needed to master the Fidelius.

"When you feel up to it, you can go," Harry waved his hand at the Potters owl who had been sipping some water from Aderyn's cup -- Harry's own owl was outside at the moment. "I'll send your masters an answer later on. Merrit?"

"Yes, Master Harold?" the elf asked after appearing at his side with a crack.

"Watch Tom for a moment. I need to do some research," Harry said. The elf nodded and with that, Harry headed down to the basement. There he headed for the bookshelves and searched for the books about Occlumency and similar arts, cursing himself for neglecting his training with them. Though he had read the books, he hadn't really ingested it and so far hadn't bothered with any of the exercises.

"Snape really was a bastard," Harry muttered after leafing through his best book, _The Shields and Swords of the Mind_. The method Snape had tried to teach him, the _clearing the mind_ method was the hardest known Occlumency defence, and naturally completely beyond someone like Harry who had no training whatsoever.

According to the book, it was much easier to throw the attacker off with minor memories or even to barricade them from one's mind, but to clear a mind of thoughts, emotions and memories in a way that anything cannot be reached by outside influences… well, that was harder. Harry rather doubted that even Snape or Voldemort had known how to do that. Dumbledore might've, but he was different.

Though Harry had to give it to Snape that he was right in one thing. Clearing his mind would have been the only way to break the connection with Voldemort. The bastard had probably even known that it was beyond Harry's abilities and had never truly tried with the lessons as they had been fated to fail from the start.

Harry figured that, since his mind was the sort of mind which usually jumped to conclusions rather than made its way with logical order, _shielding_ his mind was also beyond his reach. He thought too much, not all of them exactly smart thoughts, but his mind was still in constant movement. Hermione, who had a logical mind, would've probably mastered _shielding_ or even the _clearing of the mind_ sort of methods. Harry, however felt that _flooding_ was his best option.

Simply put, it meant concentrating  on a certain sort of thoughts or memories, and filling the mind with them. With a fast paced mind, the book said, the defender could easily flood their conscious mind with these thoughts or memories so that the attacker simply couldn't get through them. With enough memories or thoughts in the surface, the attacker wouldn't be able to reach beyond the surface memories.

Harry was positive that this was a thing he could do naturally. All he would have to think of was Tom and keep the thoughts on the baby and only on the baby. He had plenty of memories of horrible nappy changes and feeding sessions and more than enough of stress about teething and so forth. The risk with that was that he could possibly slip, but for now it would be enough. It wasn't like Dumbledore would point a wand at him and force his way into his mind in front of Lily.

"Still, better make it a public place and avoid his eyes," Harry muttered to himself, leaning back in the seat of his basement work table. "But where?" As he went through the possible places, he hardly noticed that his mindset was the same as it had been before he had broken into the Ministry and later on into Gringotts in his old world. For a meeting about a charm work in peaceful times, it was a bit too much, but he hardly noticed. As far as he was concerned, most moves he made in this world could be risky.

No place in Hogsmeade would do, they were too close to Hogwarts and if Dumbledore would suggest going to the school to discuss the matter further and Lily would agree, Harry wasn't sure if he would get out of it. No place in the muggle world would do either, muggles could be Obliviated way too easily. But the Leaky Cauldron wouldn't do either, there were private rooms there… somewhere in Diagon perhaps?

Soon Harry grinned as a perfect place came to his mind. With the decision made, he headed up to the first floor where he sought out a parchment and pen. A few hours later he got the answer and was half relieved and half gleeful that Dumbledore and Lily had both agreed to meet and talk at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

 

* * *

To Harry's delight, the weather on their meeting day was perfect. There was not a single cloud in the sky and no breath of wind to cool the air. Even Tom was more agreeable than he had been lately. He had been fed and changed and had tired himself out during the morning, so now he slept contently in his sling and didn't seem the least bit bothered by the ride in the Knight Bus even though Harry hadn't paid extra for a slow ride this time.

Harry got to the Alley before Lily and Dumbledore, or so it seemed since he couldn't see them anywhere. Before heading to the Ice Cream Parlour, he decided to stop by Flourish and Blotts from which he bought a few books about mind magic and a few dictionaries which he hoped would help with his library. Then, with the Gaelic dictionary in his lap, he seated himself outside the parlour and ordered himself a mint chocolate sundae.

He had just started to figure out that there was more than one Gaelic language when he heard a familiar voice. "Mr. Newman!" Lily called over the chattering of the crowd, making Harry look up in middle of a spoonful of dribbling ice cream. Lily was just heading towards him, pushing little Harry in a muggle stroller and thus gaining a few looks from the other people in the street. "You're here already! Oh, I hope I'm not late. Has Dumbledore arrived yet?"

"I don't think I've seen him yet," Harry answered while quickly pulling a chair aside so that Lily could push the stroller between the table and the parlour so that it wasn't in anyone's way. Little Harry, unlike the happily snoozing Tom, was looking around with eyes excitedly wide. "Stroller?" Harry asked curiously.

"It's not like I could _carry_ him in my state," Lily snorted while sitting down with a relieved sigh and rubbing her back. "Thank god I thought to put a lightening charm on the stroller though. Just walking around with this," she stroked her hand over her stomach, "is taxing these days."

Harry chuckled, berating himself for never realising that he could put a lightening charm on Tom's pram. He had never bothered to use it since making the trip between Kings Cross and the Leaky Cauldron on his first day in this world. "Magic does make things easier. How long will it be before…?" he asked, making a haphazard motion towards her stomach.

"Three more weeks -- longer if this one is like Harry, he took his sweet time," The woman laughed while motioning Fortescue to come to take her order. "I'd like a strawberry sundae. Harry, dear, what would you like?" she asked, turning to her son who had been peering up at the elder Harry with curiosity.

"Cho'olate," the boy said quickly, trying to struggle out of the stroller.

Lily nodded. "Strawberry for me and small chocolate for Harry, thank you," she said and with a nod Fortescue headed to fill the order. "So, have you waited for long? This is the second time you've been early."

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to visit Flourish and Blotts first," he said, showing the book to her as she looked down at it curiously. "Had to get some dictionaries. I'm not too good with languages, you see."

"Ah. Any good with potions?" she asked somehow sneakily.

"Can't say I am. Why?"

"Well, I've noticed that taking a Wit Sharpening potion before trying to study languages helps a lot in learning them," she winked. "I managed to master Latin in six months thanks to Wit Sharpening potions. They won't help you learn something within hours, but they will make it easier to remember later on, I've noticed."

"Oh," Harry muttered. He hadn't considered using potions in studying -- that sort of thing in his mind seemed similar to cheating. It was probably because of Hermione's influence. But he wasn't studying for some test this time. "I think I can whip up that particular potion," he then said thoughtfully, looking back to the particular brew. He had been supposed to learn it in his fourth year so it shouldn't have been too hard.

"If you can't, I can do it for you. I love brewing potions," Lily offered and looked up as Fortescue brought her order. "Thank you," she said. After placing her sundae on the table, she quickly tucked a napkin into her son's collar in hopes of keeping him from straining his clothing too badly and only then handed the boy's ice cream to him. Then she looked up to the elder Harry again. "The ingredients for the potion aren't even expensive."

"I think I can manage," Harry said, not completely sure why the idea of taking potions from Lily made him suddenly feel defensive. He grinned as his young alternate self bit down into the ice cream without any further ado and managed to smear the ice cream all over his chin. "I can't remember though, is there a limit to how much you can take it?"

"No. I tend to think of it in the same manner as coffee, as a stimulant. It tastes a whole lot better, though," Lily grinned. "Thanks to the ginger. It's actually one of the few potions which really taste good."

Harry nodded. He and Lily were talking about which store in Diagon was the best in terms of potions ingredients when Lily noticed Dumbledore walking towards them. Only hours of preparation and mental fortification made Harry able to keep a mildly curious but otherwise blank face when he saw the old man walking towards them.

This Dumbledore was almost a spitting image of the Dumbledore Harry had met at the ghostly King's Cross. He was even wearing midnight blue robes. But, somehow, this man was different. It was probably the absence of knowing. The Dumbledore Harry had known, had known _him_ and because of that there had been a certain look of warm understanding and affection in his eyes when he had looked at him. This Dumbledore, however, lacked it. To this Dumbledore Harry wasn't a student. He was a stranger who was interested in the Fidelius Charm and nothing more.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Lily greeted the man. "Good day."

"Good day, Lily, though have I not often told you to call me Albus?" the old man asked with a warm smile before answering Harry's polite curiosity with similar expression. "And you must be Harold Newman," the old man said, offering his hand as Harry stood up to greet the man. "I am Albus Dumbledore. How do you do."

"How do you do," Harry answered with a smile which was, perhaps, a bit too warm considering that Dumbledore was supposed to be a stranger. To cover it, he quickly squeezed the man's hand before sitting down again.

"I hope I didn't miss anything," Dumbledore said while taking a seat between Harry and Lily.

"No, we were talking about potions actually, and studying languages," Lily answered while almost unconsciously taking out a wipe and trying to clean some of the mess from her son's face. "Oh Harry, you're two years old already, can't you even try to eat neatly?" the boy gave her a toothy grin in return and bit down on the ice cream stick. "You're just like your father, I swear…"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I think I shall order a sundae too," he said, craning his neck to see if he could signal Fortescue to come over. "It has been a while since I've had a proper ice cream…"

"Oh, Albus! I didn't notice you there. Welcome," the manager of the parlour greeted the old man like a friend, which didn't surprise Harry in the least. Dumbledore had friends left and right after all. "Do you want your usual order?"

"Yes, that would be perfect Florean, thank you," Dumbledore nodded. "Could you put some of those lemon sprinkles to the top again? I do enjoy them very much."

"Yes, of course," Fortescue nodded. "I'll be back to you in a moment."

Harry turned his eyes to Tom to hide his amusement. Dumbledore and his sweets. It seemed like that was something which didn't change even if you moved to another dimension. "Well hello there," he murmured, seeing his son peaking one eye open. "I thought you tired yourself out this morning," he said before rocking the boy gently. "Go back to sleep…"

"Maybe Tom's sensing that he's the only one in this party who doesn't have ice cream," Lily grinned at him while watching Harry rock the boy.

"I don't dare to give him any. He is irritated enough as it is, I don't want to add a stomach ache to the mix," Harry said with a grin. "He's bit too young anyway and with my luck he'd develop a liking to it," he turned his eyes back to Tom and smiled to him. "No ice cream for you until you're at least half a year older."

"Your son's name is Tom?" Dumbledore asked curiously while Fortescue delivered his lemon sundae to him.

"Thomas, actually, but I call him Tom most of the time," Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair as the boy yawned and started to drift off again. "There we go," he murmured and once the boy's eyes were safely shut, he reached for his own ice cream.

"Well then," Dumbledore said while taking a spoonful of his ice cream. "Lily tells me you're studying the Fidelius charm. Any particular reason, or…"

"Just out of curiosity mostly," Harry answered, keeping his eyes in his own order as he was well aware that the old man was seeking an eye contact. "When I first encountered the enchantment, it didn't seem as hard as people make it seem but… I found that my first impression was wrong. After that I couldn't quite bare to put it down anymore, the simple complexity interests me too much. Like a puzzle you can't bear to put down until you've solved it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "It seems to be like that for most who study it," he agreed. "You are rather young to be working with such advanced magic, are you not?"

"Can't blame me for lack of ambition then," Harry grinned and when Dumbledore gave him a thoughtful look in answer, he realised that he had perhaps said the wrong thing. "Besides, I'm young for many things, it hasn't bothered me yet," he said, rubbing his hand over the sling meaningfully before leaning forward. "Mrs. Potter here showed me the sketches you had made for the two part Fidelius, Mr. Dumbledore," he then said, wondering how strange it was calling Dumbledore _Mr._ "Where did you get the idea for them?"

"Part of the complexity of the Fidelius enchantment is that it requires a separate secret keeper and spell caster," Dumbledore said. "I feel that it adds an unnecessary element to the spell itself and that the spell would be easier without that. So I simply sought to strip the enchantment of that element."

"So the two part Fidelius would be simpler," Harry mumbled, eyeing his spoon thoughtfully. He had thought so. There had to be a reason why it didn't seem that hard in his world and this was it. He had come, in a way, from the future. The development which Dumbledore was only just testing now had been perfected in Harry's time. Though Dumbledore must've already perfected some part of it -- as far as Harry could remember it, the man had offered to be the secret keeper for Harry's parents after all, and that had been, in this world, months and months ago.

"You suspected this?" Dumbledore asked with slight surprise in his voice.

"Hm? Ah, yes. I've tried to cast the spell many times," Harry shrugged. "It always feels like I'm getting hung up on some part I can't quite grasp, a part that holds the rest of the spell down. I wasn't absolutely sure before but now I know that it's the separate secret keeper."

He hadn't actually tried the spell more than few times and it had failed because he had tried to make himself the secret keeper. But he wasn't about to say that.

"I see," the Headmaster of Hogwarts nodded thoughtfully while taking another spoonful of his desert. "It took me quite some time to realise why the spell was so complex," he mused. "How many times did you try the spell before you realised that something was holding you back, as you put it?"

Harry stifled a sigh as he realised that he had made another mistake. "More times than I care count," he lied simply, keeping his eyes on his sundae. Then he glanced at Lily. "Have you tried to cast the spell?" he asked.

"Hm, a few times. Spectacular failures each try," she answered thoughtfully. "One time I thought I managed to get a result of some sort, but it dissolved within seconds."

Harry hadn't gotten even that far, but he didn't let it bother him. "You have cast it, right?" he asked Dumbledore but didn't look at the man's eyes. "Could you describe how it goes?"

The old man thought about it and then launched into an explanation. This lecture wasn't like the ones Harry had received about Tom Riddle, though. Dumbledore wasn't speaking with passionate conviction but clear certainty, somehow cool in its sharpness. The difference between how the man spoke to a stranger and to a friend was truly great, Harry mused while listening and pressing the words into his memory.

After a moment he reached for his shoulder bag, pulled out a note book and muggle pen and then started sketching notes about what Dumbledore was speaking of. The two part Fidelius did strip unnecessary parts off, like the need to block the spell caster out from the secret, but Harry still couldn't help but think that it was too complex. The most annoying part of the spell, he thought, was the description of the secret. It needed to be lined for the spell to understand but… it felt like add-on.

The secret is hidden inside a Secret Keeper, Harry thought, thinking back to the first descriptions of the spell people had given to him. If it worked like that, why did the secret need to be described? He frowned. Or was that part of the spell too for the secret keeper in the third part spell… but when the spell caster was the secret keeper then… couldn't he limit the secret in his mind?

After dozens of times going over the spell, Harry remembered the incantation from memory. As Dumbledore and Lily watched with curiosity, Harry wrote it down. Then he crossed out the exclusion part -- and then the part where the description was put. That left only the part of hiding the secret itself -- and the incantation was much shorter.

Harry snapped the note book shut, thinking back to something he had heard long ago. _You need to mean them_. If will power, emotion and things like that made such a huge difference with the darkest curses in existence, then… intention would have an effect on this too. Secretiveness, intention, spell work… for some reason Harry was sure that he'd be able to make the spell work now. The spell was still rough, could be better, could be simpler, but he had the Elder Wand and a terrible urge to keep his secrets.

He could at least try.

"I think someone had an epiphany," Lily murmured with amusement.

Harry was startled out of his thought. Looking up he blinked with confusion. "Huh?" he asked.

She mimicked the motion of closing a book in a snap. "People tend to make grand motions when they get ideas," she said. "So, did you get an idea?"

"Maybe. Who knows if it'll work," Harry said and explained his idea. "Intent is always a great part of spell work, sometimes it crops off parts of spells which people don't even realise are unnecessary. Think of non-verbal spells for one," he shrugged.

"That's a very good idea," Lily nodded thoughtfully and turned to Dumbledore. "Do you think it would work, Headmaster?" she asked and then blinked when the old man didn't answer. "Albus?" she asked again

Harry looked up to see that Dumbledore was looking at the table. Following the old man's gaze, Harry found his own hand. At first Harry thought Dumbledore was eyeing the scars on the back of his palm before his eyes came to rest on the ring. A sudden thought came to him as he realised his greatest mistake of the day. The ring. _Why hadn't he left the Peverell ring at home?_

"Where did you get that?" Dumbledore asked with shocking bluntness.

"It was passed down to me in a will," Harry said before he could stop himself. Quickly he pulled his right hand from the table's surface and out of Dumbledore's sight. "It's just a signet ring, nothing more," he added with an attempt at casualness he couldn't quite reach. "What do you think of stripping away the description part of the enchantment?" he then asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to its original course.

Dumbledore looked up at him sharply but Harry didn't meet the old man's eyes at all, keeping his own in his almost empty sundae cup. Then, after a moment of strange silence, he spoke, agreeing that Harry's thought was valid and worth looking into.

The rest of the meeting was strained and uncomfortable as Harry kept his eyes away from Dumbledore while the old man gave him no doubt very thoughtful looks. Lily looked like she had missed something. It was almost a relief when little Harry finally got bored of staring at the street and chewing the ice cream stick and started pointing at the Quidditch store demandingly.

"I think this is about as much peace I'm going to get with Harry around," Lily said while cleaning the boy's face as well as she could. "The next time I'm going to leave you to your godfather, little man."

Harry sighed with relief. "I think I should be off too," he said, looking down to Tom. "This little man has been contently staying quiet so far but I'm sensing a storm brewing underneath the calm." Or more accurately, he could hear it. The boy's stomach was grumbling slightly in his sleep, either as a sign of upcoming hunger or gas. "It was enlightening, talking to you two."

"That it was, Mr. Newman," Lily nodded while standing up and starting to free the stroller from behind the table.

"Harold will do, I think, Mrs. Potter," Harry added, standing up as well with his left hand supporting the sling and his right hand hidden stiff at his side, out of Dumbledore's sight.

"You must call me Lily, then," she smiled. "I suspect we'll have another chat some time?"

"Yes, I'd like that," Harry nodded. Lily threw another smile at him and then, due to her son's excited insisting, headed towards the Quidditch store. The elder Harry turned to Dumbledore who had stood up as well. He offered the old man a smile which, unlike the first one he has given to the man, was a tad bit stiff. "Mr. Dumbledore, it was a pleasure."

"Before you Go, Mr. Newman, I'd like to have a private word with you," the old man spoke, his eyes trying to seek Harry's right hand.

Harry's smile turned strained and his fingers tightened into a fist. For a moment he thought of outright refusing the man, of walking away, but that would cause more harm than good. What could he do then? Tell him that the ring wouldn't offer what Dumbledore so craved? That it wasn't a tool to be used for one's own pleasure -- or for one's own greed? It was true that the stone didn't work like that and even if it _could_ be used like that… it wasn't right. How could he say that and make Dumbledore understand it, Dumbledore who had literally thrown his own life away for the wish to use the Resurrection Stone?

For a moment Harry couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore still had James's Invisibility Cloak.

"About the ring?" Harry finally asked as he couldn't come up with anything more intelligent to say. The old man was looking at him and for a moment Harry flooded his mind with thoughts of his son. "It's just a ring," he said slowly.

"I have… heard of one like it," Dumbledore answered thoughtfully. "Could I take a closer look at it?"

Harry didn't answer for a moment. Then he lifted his hand and showed the ring -- and the discriminating symbol of the Deathly Hallows engraved in it. When Dumbledore's hand twitched as if to lift and take the ring from Harry's finger, Harry enclosed his fingers into a fist. "That is about as close a look as I'm going to let anyone take of it," he said and lowered his hand. "It is just a ring, Mr. Dumbledore. An ugly one at that."

"You do know that the mark in it is legendary, don't you?" Dumbledore raised his white eyebrows. "That ring could be centuries old."

"It is still just a ring, and the mark is just a mark," Harry answered with a shrug and, as if on cue, Tom let out an annoyed whimper, stretching awkwardly in the sling. "Now, excuse me, I need to get going before my son gets irritated. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dumbledore," Harry said nodding his head stiffly. "Good day to you."

"And to you, Mr. Newman," Dumbledore nodded.

As Harry headed away, feeling the old man's eyes on him, he promised to himself that the moment the basement was secure, the ring would stay there. It had been stupid to wear it in a meeting with Dumbledore of all people and it was a mistake he couldn't take back. All he could do now was to make sure never to repeat it.

 


	10. Little and Big Differences

Even with a meeting with Dumbledore and a little bit of extra clarity added to the mix, the Fidelius remained a spell which just wouldn't allow itself to be cast. And Harry had definitely tried to cast it, many times in many ways, but he had been utterly unsuccessful each time. He was actually starting to think that the spell simply didn't want to be cast by him.

After spending so many weeks fruitlessly at it, Harry decided to take a break. He figured that by the time he started seeing dreams of one spell, it was time to think of something else. So, leaving the notes of Fidelius aside, Harry pulled up his cauldron and spend one afternoon brewing Wit Sharpening potions. After that he spent a few days with a Latin dictionary, trying to translate a few of the other spells in _Highest Forms of Defensive Warding_ for some practice _._

To his utter delight and annoyance, Lily had been completely right about the Wit Sharpening potion. A few gulps of it before he started to study helped him remember what he had studied in the following day too, even if he hadn't been repeating the foreign words a hundred times. It was annoying because if only Harry had known before, he would've forced Hermione to teach him how to brew the potion back in his first year and then he would've been drinking it all the time all thorough school. It would've helped him with some of his marks immensely.

"I should've taken Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Harry sighed once he had translated enough of the spell he was studying to realise that it required an Arithmancy array. At the lengthy description of the complicated calculations the spell would need, he was tempted to forget it and move on to another spell. Arithmancy wasn't his cup of tea after all. But sadly, understanding of Numerology, Runes and magical Symbology seemed to be important to some of the other warding spells too, making Harry rather certain that Fidelius was probably the only spell in the book he'd ever be able to use with the knowledge he had.

Harry wasn't a quitter, though. While trying to understand the formula of the calculations that seemed to throw all the rules he knew about mathematics out of the window, he wondered why he hadn't studied Arithmancy. He hadn't ever been particularly fond of mathematics or anything, but back in his muggle school he’d had pretty good marks on math. He hadn't been too shabby with school work back then anyway. He hadn't been the best of the class, maybe, but he hadn't been the worst either.

But magic… yeah. In Hogwarts Harry had been so awed by the whole magic aspect, so excited and enticed by it that he hadn't really cared about studying so seriously. Then there had been Hermione and Ron and the radical split up between them. Hermione with her obsessive methods of studying and Ron with his perhaps too lazy attitude. And Harry had rather sided with Ron, not because he was bad, not because he was lazy, but because he had wanted to. Despite everything, he had enjoyed Ron's company more than Hermione's so he had taken every class he had and nothing else -- and Hermione had been in every class anyway.

But now, thinking about it… he had been in that school with a very bad sort of attitude. Each year something had made him doubt his chances of returning there -- or leaving alive. First year he had studied seriously, but the second year there had been Dobby and the warning from the Ministry -- and the whole heir of Slytherin business at the school. Third year he had blown up his aunt, run away and then there had been Sirius and the Dementors… Fourth year, the whispers of Voldemort, the dreams, the tri-wizard tournament and all that. And fifth year he had been practically bullied by the Ministry… and so forth. Seventh year he hadn't been at school at all!

Harry had never taken Hogwarts seriously when it had come to studying because he had always doubted he'd be there until he finished. Either he had thought they'd kick him out, or that he'd have to run or that he'd plain die… so marks and such had meant very little to him. Instead he had rather enjoyed his time there, enjoyed magic and the company of others who understood it. He had been content on acting rather than thinking because if he had stopped to think, he'd eventually start thinking of the future and how fleeting the whole thing was. He had always been a creature of the _now_.

And right _now_ he regretted his attitude even though he did understand it. He could look back with a great deal of fondness, but with little pride. Now he was too set in his ways of acting before thinking to change himself easily. Studying made him want to get up and fire some well learned attack spells at a dummy or run a couple times around his yard just for the heck of it. It was such a _grunt_ attitude that it made him a little ashamed of himself. Especially considering that it had been Hermione and her endless well of knowledge that had kept Harry and Ron alive during the months of being on the run, not his act-now-think-later mentality.

With these thoughts swarming his head and filling him with nagging guilt that had Hermione's voice, Harry kicked his fighter-attitude under the table. Taking his cloak he told Merrit to look after Tom, before Flooing to the Leaky Cauldron with the intention of a lengthy visit to Flourish and Blott's. He had Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books to buy -- and it was probably best to keep an eye out for anything he hadn't bothered with before.

The book shop was, to Harry's relief, almost empty when he got there, so he could browse the shelves in peace and ponder over what books to take. What he remembered of the books Hermione had studied back in Hogwarts all ended up in his basket. Of all of them, _Numerology and Grammatica_ scared him the most. It was probably the thickest book he had ever seen, which might explain why in all her years studying numerology Hermione had only needed one text book whilst with Ancient Runes she had used five. And then Harry realised that "Ancient Runes" wasn't just one set of runes, there was some twenty sets of them.

The Arithmancy and Runes books weren't all he got. Seeing books on magical theory, spell creation and warding, he picked them as well, figuring that knowing some "easier" stuff would help him with the harder stuff of his library. He also got some Defence Against the Dark Arts books he hadn't seen before and a book on basic curse breaking.

"I see someone has started studying," the manager noted with slight amusement in his tone when Harry carried his loaded basked to the counter. " _Numerology and Grammatica_ , eh? Someone starting their selective subjects at Hogwarts then?"

"I guess Hogwarts students are the only ones who willingly buy this thing then?" Harry asked, giving the brick of a book a look of worry. "And no, no one's starting at Hogwarts in my family. I merely noticed some holes in my education and decided to try and repair them before things start running out."

The manager grinned while ringing up the Arithmancy book. "With this you'll stopper a flood," he said and eased the book into a no doubt magically strengthened paper bag. "Ancient runes too?" he then asked, noticing the pile of books in the subject

"I have many holes in my education," Harry shrugged sheepishly. "Home taught," he explained. "Didn't really put much value on these more… bookish subjects," he said, eyeing _Rune Dictionary_ and sighing. "And now I'm regretting it."

"Not many choose to study further after they've finished school. Too busy finding work, getting married and having kids," the manager mused.

"Already got married and had a kid, only to figure out that I probably can't get a job with what little I know," Harry laughed. It was rather true. He had no intention of becoming an Auror in this world as that would put him into a position that would be difficult for him and his family once the time of the next war would begin. Spell creator and maybe a ward maker, some sort of freelancer anyway, sounded much better -- except for the fact that he didn't have the right knowledge for it.

"Thankfully I got a bit of gold so maybe it won't be an issue just yet," Harry muttered. With the gold he could buy himself couple of years’ worth of study time before he was forced to seek a job in order to sustain himself and Tom.

"You're lucky then," the manager nodded. "Warding?" he then asked curiously, eyeing a book called _Protected Perimeter_. "This book was pretty popular a year ago. Not so much these days though."

"I bet," Harry mused and straightened his back. "Warding is an interesting subject for me. It's mostly because of warding I'm going to start studying these," he patted the numerology and rune books. He grinned. "I figured out that the most difficult wards require a bit more than a wave of a wand and a few muttered words."

"That they do," the manager chuckled and continued to ring Harry's purchases.

"If you're going to start studying numerology with no basis at it, you might wish to try this one before tacking the _Numerology and Grammatica_ ," unfamiliar voice suggested from nearby, making Harry glance away from the counter. It was a dark haired young man wearing black robes with silver embroidery on them. He looked somewhat familiar and was holding a thin book called _0 to 10, Number Definitions and Values_. "This simply explains the number meanings and a bit of the history of Arithmancy, but I found that _Numerology and Grammatica_ was easier to understand once I had read this one."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrow and accepted the book the man was handing to him. Instead of the complicated patterns and charts that seemed to fill the bigger numerology book, this one really just had the definitions in it. "Yeah, this seems easier on my poor brain. Thanks," Harry smiled at the man and handed the thin book to the manager. Then he eyed the familiar man thoughtfully, wondering where he had seen him before. "You have studied Arithmancy too, Mr…?"

"Black," the man answered with a curt nod. "Regulus Black. And I had both OWL and NEWT course Arithmancy when I was in Hogwarts."

Harry had to bite back the gasp of surprise. Regulus Black, Sirius's brother? The same Regulus who had died because of the Horcrux in Harry's world? Though of course, if this world didn't have Horcruxes… "Excuse me," Harry said noticing that the other had noticed his reaction. "I was wondering if that is why you looked so familiar. Might you be related to Sirius Black?"

The other's expression turned frosty. "He's my elder brother," he answered. "How do you know him?"

"Met him in a bar," Harry shrugged and quickly sought to steer the conversation away from Sirius as it obviously bothered the other. "How is Arithmancy taught at Hogwarts?" he asked while pulling out his money pouch to pay for his purchases. "I have never attended to a school like that, you see."

"It's taught much like any other subject, in a class room, by a teacher," Regulus answered, easing up a bit but still eyeing Harry with a mild look of suspicion. "What is your name, sir?"

"I am Harold Newman," Harry answered, realising how rude he must've sounded. For a moment he considered explaining himself by saying that he only just moved in, but decided that it wouldn't work with this guy. Regulus didn't seem the sort of person to offer his sympathies or understanding. "I apologise for my rudeness," he simply said.

Regulus was quiet for a moment before nodding. "That's quite alright," he said, watching as Harry paid for his purchase before stepping closer and placing the only book he seemed intent on buying to the counter. It was about Wizarding law. "I don't think I've heard of the Newmans before," he then said. "Do you come from a… new family?"

Figuring that this was polite way of asking if he was a muggleborn, Harry shrugged his shoulders. "It depends how you define new, I suppose," he answered while taking his paper bag. It apparently had expansion and feather light charm too, as it had fit all the books and didn't weight much. Magic was so handy. "It's understandable that you haven't heard of my family though, as I've only just moved to Britain. I lived in Greece before."

"Oh, I see," Regulus mused, glancing at him while slipping the law book into his pocket. "Well then, Mr. Newman. It was a pleasure meeting you, but I must be off."

"You too, Mr. Black," Harry answered, nodding his head. "I wish you good day."

"Same to you."

For a while Harry watched how Sirius's younger brother walked to the door of the shop and then out, before pursing his lips in thought. If Regulus was alive here… could some other people who had died in Harry's world be as well? And could some other people, who had lived, be dead? It was interesting and somewhat worrying thought.

"That's a smart lad, that Regulus Black," the manager of Flourish and Blotts said. "He will amount to something pretty soon, mark my words. Especially since he has been made the official heir of the Black Family."

"Oh?" Harry asked curiously. That probably made Sirius happy.

"Indeed. With Sirius Black being as he is… well, Regulus Black seems to be more intent on making something out of himself," the manager shrugged and turned to another customer, asking if he could help them. Figuring that he had learned all he could, Harry made his way out of the store.

He made a silent promise to keep his eyes open for Regulus Black. Even though no one knew it, the young man had done something truly amazing in his world. It was something special for someone to be able to forsake their life in order to try and destroy an evil item, Horcrux or not. That something was worth a closer look.

 

* * *

"I think I'm starting to see why she liked this stuff so much," Harry muttered, twiddling a quill in one hand and trying to keep Tom from messing up his calculations with the other. The boy was sitting in his lap, and by the way he was trying to grab every piece of parchment nearby, he was very interested in what he was doing. Looking down at the boy, Harry snorted. "You like Arithmancy too, huh?"

It had taken him the better part of a day to figure out how to work the simplest numerology sheets but once he had, the subject revealed itself to be both fascinating and… rather creepy. The first steps of Arithmancy study was the reading of names by turning the letters of the names into numbers and calculating from that. With each number having a different meaning, the resulting numbers weren't just numbers but definitions and those definitions… were frighteningly spot on.

Well, with Tom's and Harry's original names at least. Tom Marvolo Riddle's number, soul urge number and inner dream number were like a simplified tale of his life, telling of a reclusive, analytical person with a charismatic, artistic soul and a dream for power and control. Harry James Potter on other hand the numbers revealed to be a quick thinking adventurer with a knack for leadership, a tendency of being self-sacrificing and a tad too forgiving and with a dream of freedom…

Harry shuddered. He had to wonder if Hermione had ever done an Arithmancy reading on his name. Probably, she had the tendency of analysing everything; she had probably done a reading of every single name she knew just for extra study.

Harry's and Tom's new names didn't match all that well with their new lives, though. However there was something that struck Harry as a teeny bit worrisome. They both had the exact same numbers for themselves, their souls and their dreams. It might've been the numbers getting to his head after so much study, but he couldn't help but think that there was a special meaning with it.

"Are we idealistic dreamers Tommy boy?" he asked the baby who had given up the taxing goal of messing up his studies and turned to play with his feet instead. Harry smiled as the boy tried his hardest to chew on his own toes. "I can't really see the two of us striving for a stable life either, do you? And I certainly don't dream of a life of studying," he added with a sigh and leaned his back against the backrest of his sitting room couch. "Even this much studying is driving me insane."

The names were fake though, so they probably couldn't even have a proper value in Arithmancy. They weren't the names given to them by their real parents -- and they were pretty shoddy names at that, as both of them lacked a second name -- so the meanings were hollow too. "Though I think I'd prefer the new meanings over the old ones," he murmured. Tom's old name had such weight in Arithmancy that he definitely preferred the new one over it.

"Master Harold?" Merrit asked timidly from the kitchen doorway. "Do you want some more of the potion? Merrit is washing the dishes and there is only little bit of it left… or are you going to make more, sir?"

"Ah, no, I think I'm about done studying for the day,"  Harry answered, taking his tea cup and handing it over in her direction. "Just pour me what's left and wash the cauldron. Thank you, Merrit."

As the elf headed back to the kitchen to get him his last dose of the Wit Sharpening potion -- which he was now drinking more than he had probably ever drank anything before in such a short period of time -- Harry turned his eyes back to the calculations. "Yep, I definitely understand why Hermione liked this stuff," he mumbled. "Explains lot about warding too…"

"You're mumbling to yourself a lot, Mr. Newman," Hugh pointed out from the ceiling.

Harry chuckled before pulling up a solemn face. "I've gone insane with studying," he said seriously.

The boy ghost nodded just as seriously. "I always knew it would be hazardous to one's health," he said.

Harry nodded gravely before laughing tiredly. Studying really wasn't for him, he thought not for the first time, while turning his eyes to his son. The little foot had slipped from Tom's hands -- and mouth -- and fallen rather hard against Harry's shin. "Are you kicking me, you little brat?" he asked mock outrageously. "I'll show you what we do to little boys who kick others in this house!"

Hugh laughed as Harry grabbed his son gently and then proceeded to tease a squeal of laughter out of the baby by blowing a raspberry against the boy's stomach. Then, because Tom looked like he was expecting it, he did it again and again until both of them were a little breathless with laughter and Hugh had toppled through a wall.

Harry stopped the teasing when Merrit brought him his last cup of potion for the day, much to Tom's apparent disapproval. Settling the boy in his lap again, Harry smiled. "Daddy needs a break, little one," he laughed softly as the baby gave him a deeply betrayed look for having been ditched for a cup of potion.

Of course Tom wasn't really old enough to actually have opinions or emotions so clear, but that didn't stop Harry from giving meanings to his every cute expression, now that Tom was starting to have more of them.

"Does Master wish Merrit to clean this up?" the house-elf asked, motioning at the tea table which was covered with parchment, books and ink.

"No, thank you Merrit. Sometimes I’ve got to clean my own mess," Harry said, taking a sip of the Wit Sharpening potion before setting the cup down and piling up the Arithmancy books. "However, I would appreciate it if you'd take these upstairs. Just put them on the desk in the library. I'll sort them out later."

"Right away, Master," the elf said almost happily, taking the books into her arms and disappearing with a crack.

It was only after Harry had cleaned up the ink and put the parchment away that he realised that he had been working all day from the morning and that he apparently hadn't even read the Daily Prophet. He had just spread the paper to the tea table and started working on top of it, using the paper to ensure that he wouldn't drip any ink to the table itself.

Well, it wasn't like there was actually anything interesting in the news most of the time, Harry mused while taking the paper and eyeing the front page. The main article was actually about England's Quidditch team getting a new keeper. Then there was something about Bartemius Crouch senior who had become somewhat of a laughing stock in society after his blunders at the end of the war. Some article about some potions master who had died recently…  Quite different from the articles you could see during war times.

Harry read through a few articles before arriving at the one about the potions master. The name of the person caught him for a moment, sounding somehow familiar. "Damocles Belby?" he murmured while steadying Tom, who was now yawning against his chest, with one hand. "Where have I heard that before…?"

He thought about it for a moment, but the name did not arouse more than the knowledge that he had heard it before somewhere. Frowning, Harry glanced down at Tom. It was about time for the boy to go to bed. He could feed his son, ready him for bed and put him in his crib and take a look at his library after that. Maybe Damocles Belby had done something in some other world, and one of his books would know.

"Merrit, get Tom a bottle, would you?" he called. "It's about the time to put the little prince to bed."

After tucking Tom in and casting the monitoring charm, Harry started going through his library. He aimed first for the potions books, which he had been leaving alone mostly for now because the train had given him potions books he had no way of understanding. Not that that was anything new, most of the books he had wished into existence were frighteningly advanced.

The potions books didn't help him, though. Damocles Belby wasn't in any of them. His name wasn't in any of the reference lists of potions ingredients or potions theory books either. With growing irritation and an unwillingness to give up, Harry piled all the books that could have anything to with potions and went through their reference lists as well. Herbology books, books about magical items, books about magical tattoos though he had no idea why he had those, books about magical creatures…

It was in the reference list of a book about dark creatures that Harry encountered the name. Quickly leafing through the book to the page where the man was mentioned, Harry stopped to stare. Damocles Belby, the man who created the Wolfsbane potion in the year nineteen-eighty-six. Ah, of course he couldn't find a potions book with the man in it from the second floor library. All the books about potions not created yet were in the cellar…

Harry blinked as the words written in the book actually sunk in. The Wolfsbane potion. Which had been created four years into the future -- in some worlds.

"Oh… damn…" Harry murmured, pulling the chair from the work table and sitting down. The creator of the Wolfsbane potion in this world was dead due to an accident, four years before the potion had been supposed to be created. "That's not good," the young man murmured, his mind immediately jumping to Lupin, to the other werewolves of this world, to everyone whose life could be changed and even saved with the potion, all the people the potion wouldn't be able to help now…

"No, wait, let's not jump into conclusions yet," Harry muttered, quickly standing up and starting to put his books back in the places they belonged. The potion might still exist. It was a different world after all, with a different past and a different future. The potion might've been created earlier. He just needed to find out if it was.

Pulling out his pocket watch, Harry flipped it open. There was still time before the shops in Diagon Alley closed. "Merrit!" he called, and immediately the elf appeared before him with a crack. "Merrit, I need to make a quick stop at Diagon," Harry said to her. "Watch Tom while I'm gone alright?"

"Of course, Master," she nodded. "Do you want me to get started with supper as well?"

"Hmm… no not yet, I'm not sure how long this will take," Harry shook his head. "I should be back before nightfall."

Diagon Alley wasn't as busy as it was during the lighter hours but there were still plenty of people around -- and the Leaky Cauldron was absolutely full when Harry Flooed in. Waving his greeting and farewell to Albert, Harry headed out to the Alley, first aiming for Flourish and Blotts. There he spent a good half an hour going through the store's potions books in search for Damocles Belby and the Wolfsbane potion, before turning to the manager and asking about the potioneer.

"Damocles Belby?" the manager murmured with a thoughtful frown. "No, I don't think we have any publications from him. I don't think he's in any of our potions books either. I can double check if you want me to, but I usually remember these things pretty much right…."

Harry nodded, figuring that if Damocles Belby had created the potion already, he'd be easier to remember. In Harry's world, the man had gotten an Order of Merlin out of the potion after all, something like that didn't happen without people noticing. An Order of Merlin was a somewhat flashy award after all, and weren't there pretty grand ceremonies involved for the award as well?

Still, Harry figured that it was better to double check and after thanking the manager he headed to the nearest potions ingredient store. They usually had potion formula pamphlets for the popular and famous potions in their stores, along with kits for particular potions with all the ingredients ready for use. If Wolfsbane existed, the storekeepers should at least know it, if not have a pamphlet about it.

"Wolfsbane… oh, you mean monkshood," the saleswoman there said. "Yeah, we have it in stock. How much do you need? We have ready-made kits for an aconite based potion for aching joints, if that's what you're looking for…"

"Ah, no, no thank you. I just wanted to check about it," Harry declined hurriedly. "I need some armadillo bile and scarab beetles, though," he then added when the manager gave him a slightly annoyed look. The order seemed to appease the man a little, though Harry didn't really care about that. After paying for the ingredients, he quickly left the store, feeling rather worried.

The potion really didn't exist. And though for a moment Harry entertained the thought that Damocles had made notes about the creation process and someone else would pick them up to continue, it was nothing he would dare to bet on. He also seemed to recall distantly someone saying that Damocles wasn't especially social -- with his family anyway. Had it been back in Hogwarts? Well, it didn't matter now.

Biting his lip deep in thought, Harry made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, pondering about this new dilemma. Even without checking it, he knew that in one of the potions books in his cellar, there was the formula for the Wolfsbane potion, full and perfected. The books tended to have the knowledge he needed even though he didn't know it, so it had to be there. A potion which had changed the lives of werewolves in Harry's world -- and no doubt many other worlds. Which would never be invented in this world.

Harry knew his library could change lives. There were spells in it he had never heard of, some which had never been -- and never would be -- invented in this world. There were magical arts that had never existed, some of which had been forgotten and some which hadn't been created yet. And of course there was a large variety of potions that no one in this world had ever heard of and never would either, potions of the future and past that had and never would never exist here…

But he hadn't really thought that much about it. This world seemed to do well enough without the knowledge he had access to, so he had time to select the ones he would release into this world and the ones he wouldn't, once he understood the subjects better. That was what he had thought. Now, however, it was different. Because unlike so many of those other arts he had access to, Wolfsbane was personal. Because of Remus Lupin… it was personal.

And because of that he couldn't just push the matter aside and think about it later.

Arriving to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry first considered Flooing straight away to his home, before stopping and walking to the counter instead. Albert was busy, talking with a couple of hags, so Harry took a folded cop of the Daily Prophet from the counter and read through the article about Damocles' death again. It had been a potion accident – an explosion which, while not lethal on its own, had caused the house to collapse on poor Damocles. A remarkably mundane end for someone so important.

"Hello there, Mr. Newman!" Albert greeted Harry after noticing him. "I saw you earlier. Visiting the Alley a bit late, aren't you?"

"I had to check something," Harry sighed and gave the man a somewhat tired smile. "Could you get me a glass of butterbeer, Albert? Make it warm."

"Right way," the innkeeper nodded and soon enough he handed Harry a pint of gently steaming beer. "Rough day?" Albert then asked, as Harry drank down half of the butterbeer in one breath

"Well, not really rough, but I just found out something troublesome," Harry mused, eyeing the pint thoughtfully before looking up to the man. "Say, what would you do if you had… let's say a spell, which could help a lot of lives. What would you do with it?"

The innkeeper blinked with confusion before leaning his elbows on the counter and looking thoughtful. "I suppose I would go about getting it legalised in the Ministry and try spreading the word. Of course if it's a really good spell, the Ministry would probably do it themselves, as they usually do with healing spells and such," he said. "You have a spell like that, Mr. Newman?"

"Hmm…" Harry nodded absently and frowned. He couldn't do that though. If he went to the Ministry about the Wolfsbane potion, it would be troublesome. He was no potions maker -- hell, he could only brew a handful of potions and none of them without using formulas and such. A newbie potions maker like him could never invent the Wolfsbane potion. Besides, there was probably a background check involved with things like these.

"Do you want to get money out of the spell creation?" Albert asked, raising his eyebrows. "I think there's a way of doing that. You can get a copyright to it so that every book and publication would have to pay you for using the spell in their books…" he said thoughtfully and then explained. "A friend of mine, who wanted to be a spell creator, studied it back when we were in Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. "It's not that I want copyright or money out of it, it's more like… I don't want to be known for it," he said and frowned. "I just want… people to know about the spell. Make it public. But I don't want to be known as the creator."

"Hmm… that's tougher," the elder man hummed. "I suppose you could contact a spell creator who does this sort of stuff for a living and hand the spell over to them so that they can make it public. They could either pose as the creator or just say that they're presenting the spell for an anonymous creator."

Harry blinked and then brightened. "Yes… yes, I could do that," he nodded excitedly before frowning again. If it was a spell he could just hand it over to Selene who was a known spell creator, but it wasn't a spell. It was a potion. And in his small circle of acquaintances, there were no potioneers. The only potions makers he actually knew somewhat personally -- even though they didn't know him -- were Severus Snape and Horace Slughorn… and he couldn't exactly hand the potion over to them.

Or… why not? Harry tapped the counter thoughtfully with his fingers as the thought slowly gained shape. Yes, why not? He could just send the potion formula to one of them anonymously. As potions masters they would be bound to understand it and verify it. As potions masters they probably knew the procedures of getting it publicised too. They might take the fame for it, but Harry didn't really care as long as the potion got out…

Alright, maybe the fame bit bothered him a little. If it was Slughorn, the man would squeeze all the fame he could get out of being the potion's creator, and that thought disgusted Harry a little. He smiled grimly. Yes, he'd rather send the potion to Snape. It would be a good way of judging the man's character from a distance too. Would the man's past with Lupin hinder him and make him hide the potion out of spite? And should he publish it, would Snape take the fame for creating the potion or just its publication…?

"Thanks Albert," Harry said to the innkeeper and threw his head back to drink the last of his butterbeer before standing up to leave. He banged the pint on the counter and grinned. "You were great help."

"Any time, Mr. Newman," the man nodded. "Stop by with little Tom every now again, would you? It's been while since I saw the little guy."

"Will do," Harry nodded and headed for the grate to Floo home. He had a letter to write.


	11. Success and Suspicion

Even after the somewhat life changing letter he had written to Severus Snape -- which had only contained the instructions and explanation of the Wolfsbane potion and the words "make it public" -- Harry's and Tom's life continued as normal. Harry continued to study, returning to the matter of the Fidelius despite the headache it caused him and Tom continued to be adorable, though nothing less could really be expected of him.

The momentary straying had paid off. Studying Arithmancy and runes for a while had made him a bit more experienced in understanding the difficult spell. Fidelus didn't really require either but charting the secret with Arithmancy and fitting runes into the new spell work added to it a flavour which Harry was now positive would lead to completing the spell once and for all.

Except of course he wasn't really completing the spell. The spell was already complete -- not only in its original form but Harry also suspected that Dumbledore had already completed his own form. Harry had moved past both forms already and the form of Fidelius he was working on was shaping up to be his own unique spell. He had made so many changes to the formula already that it and the original Fidelius were barely alike. Which was a thought both embarrassingly awesome and frightening.

Though if the spell was his alone and no one else could understand it… then good. This way he could be absolutely positive that once the spell actually worked, no one would be able to break it. You had to know how the spell went, to break it after all -- not that Fidelius was breakable anyway but that was beside the point. The little bit of extra security wouldn't hurt here.

Harry was reshaping the wording of the spell when the sound of a knock against the front door reached him. He glanced up from his dictionary but being in what he was certain was a crucial point, he didn't feel like getting up and losing track of his calculations. "Hugh," he said instead, glancing at the ghost who had been playing with Tom -- which usually meant making funny faces for the baby's amusement. "Could you check who's at the door?"

"Sure thing," the ghost answered rather happily, made a last funny face at Tom, much to the boy's delight, and then floated to the hall. Not much after he called back. "It's Mrs. Lovegood! Do I tell her to come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Harry answered distractedly, jotting down a few notes on the parchment before reaching for his dictionary and leafing through the pages for the right words. Biting the end of his quill he contemplated the differences between the words secluded, hidden and secreted. Though maybe enclosed was still the best one, its Arithmancy value was more fitting for the spell… or maybe sheltered?

"Working, Harold?" Selene asked while walking into the sitting room, little Luna balanced against her hip and looking around curiously. "You workaholic."

"You're the one to speak," Harry glanced up with a faint smile. "Hello Selene. And hello to you too, Luna," he added before calling over his shoulder. "Merrit, could you make some tea for Selene? And get some light snacks for Luna."

"Thank you, Harold," the woman smiled while sitting down beside him and setting Luna on the floor. Though the little girl was giving curious looks to Tom who was lying on a blanket next to the tea table, she seemed too shy to step forward and instead half hid next to her mother's knees. "What are you working on?"

"The Fidelius, again," Harry sighed, running his hand through his long hair. "I'm trying to figure out a new wording for the spell. A fully modern English one."

"Show me what you've came up with so far?" Selene said and accepted the paper Harry handed to her. She glanced it over and smiled faintly. "You're trying to integrate maybe a little bit too much numerology into this. You're losing proper grammar."

"I am?" the young man asked worriedly and leaned in to look. He had been trying to work his new, though slightly limping, Arithmancy skills into the spell to give it a sturdier base. "Is it too much?"

"Well, it depends. I find using too many pre-thought forms with new spell work isn't necessarily a good thing. Magic is a wild, lively thing and usually it doesn't much care for forms," the woman chuckled, glancing up as Merrit came in, carrying a tray of tea and snacks. "Thank you, dear."

"Y-you're welcome, Mrs. Lovegood," the elf stuttered while Harry cleared enough space on the table for the tray. "Is… is there something else you would like?"

"No, this is fine. Thank you," Selene smiled while reaching to pour herself some of the tea. "Anyway, most spells are cut down to their very basic forms. Some centuries back spells were much longer and much more complicated than they are now, as people tried to add in everything they thought necessary to them. I think a common levitation charm was some eleven words long originally."

"Really?" Harry asked with surprise. He hadn't really studied spell history that much so he had no idea.

"Yeah. People tried to make their spells as specified as possible. Now we know that those long spells were actually poorer than the short spells we use," the woman nodded. "Because magic doesn't work only because of the words and because of wands, after all. It needs another component, and that is what we have here," she tapped her temple.

"Emotional component," Harry nodded. This he did understand.

"Well, that too, but there is more to it than that. Imagination and belief are very important in spell work," the woman chuckled. "Most of the spells we do, work the way they do because we _believe_ that they will. And that belief is worked into our very minds right in school where our teacher shows us how this or that spell works. We automatically believe that it will work that way because we are told, taught and sometimes demonstrated that it does."

The young man blinked with surprise and then leaned back in thought. He hadn't considered that. Hell, he had never even heard of it. The simple spells they used worked so well for them because they believed that they would? That was rather… novel concept. "So, our schools and our teachers teach us more than wand movement and words, huh?" he murmured with awe.

Selene laughed. "Remind me to show you the charts I once made about the effect magical schools had on our population and the skills wizard generally possess. It's rather awe striking," she said while handing Luna a bit of small pastry she had been eyeing curiously. "However knowing this puts us spell creators into difficult position. While creating spells, we usually lack that mental component of belief. We may have emotion and imagination but belief is hard to synthesize."

"Yeah that it is," Harry murmured and glanced at his son who was making somewhat anxious motions on the floor. "You've created your own spells, haven't you? How did you get them to work?"

"Sometimes I just have an epiphany about how the spell should go, but usually it happens accidentally," Selene said with a laugh. "Sometimes a little bit of intoxication helps too. I created a wonderful Herbology charm while I was drunk out of my mind once. I think it was during my graduation celebration party…"

Harry chuckled before getting up from the couch to pick Tom up. Then he sat down again, settling the boy comfortably to his lap and absently tugging the child's socks better on his tiny feet. "I'm not sure if trying new spells while you're drunk is all that safe," he murmured and shuddered. That sort of thing could go horribly wrong.

"It isn't, which is why I avoid doing it," the woman laughed and took sip of her tea. "I think you should throw this Arithmancy thing out of the window for now. Arithmancy is good for warding and making magical items but in spell creation it's rarely of use."

"Well, to be fair, I'm not really creating anything. I'm just… trying to rework a pre-invented spell," Harry answered with a shrug and looked down at Tom who was wiggling his feet enthusiastically. The he glanced at the woman. "By the way, was there any particular reason for your visit or are you just stopping by for tea?"

"Ah no, I have something to tell you," the woman's expression brightened as she scooped Luna up from the floor and held the girl close. Little Luna giggled softly as her mother nuzzled against her hair. "Luna is going to have a sibling in nine months!"

Harry's eyes widened for a moment before somewhat awkward smile spread to his face. "That's great," he said, not knowing what else to say. "Congratulations."

"Thank you! It never wouldn't have happened without your spell, too. With Materlactimenti I can have another child without worrying about his or her feeding," she smiled widely and smacked a wet kiss against Luna's cheek, making the girl squirm. "And my little Luna won't be alone anymore! Won't that be wonderful, sweetie? You're going to have little baby sister or baby brother!"

Another difference between the two worlds -- this one caused by him. But it wasn't a bad sort of change to cause. Harry chuckled softly, wondering if little baby Lovegood would end up being as wonderfully weird as his or her family was. He rather hoped so. The Lovegoods were a precious commodity and the world needed more of their sort. No, he definitely didn't mind this change.

And then Selene started to worry about future morning sickness and swollen legs and back pains and all the other problems of pregnancies, reminiscing about how it had been to carry Luna and so forth. Harry sighed softly and tried to sympathise. It wasn't too easy since he had never really witnessed anyone's pregnancy that close, but he decide to memorise some of Selene's problems, just in case someone asked about the time when Harry's so called wife had been pregnant with Tom.

After Selene's visit, which mostly ended up being talk about children and ended when Luna started showing signs of hunger, Harry returned to working on his modified Fidelius. Deciding to take his friend's advice, he stacked the Arithmancy books -- as well as the dictionaries he had used -- aside and then turned to the spell without any aid and went with the flow, more or less.

"Spell creation seems to be a difficult business," Hugh mused while entertaining himself by annoying Nightmare. He was grasping her tail, which of course did nothing as he was a ghost, but it managed to irritate the cat who was trying to pretend to be sleeping.

"That it is," Harry murmured with a chuckle, letting Tom play with his left hand while writing notes with his right one. The spell he had now come up with seemed somewhat… loopy. It had little of the structure of the original and even less of the strict form of Arithmancy Harry had been using. It looked poor and amateurish in comparison to the previous versions.

"Mental component, belief…" Harry murmured and frowned. How did one manufacture belief? Confidence probably had something to do with it too. And Selene had spoken about epiphanies, so inspiration and intuition were probably also ways to succeeding with spells.  If only he had some Felix Felicis, the spell would've probably worked instantly… but of course that was the one thing he has forgotten to wish for on the train.

Harry blinked slowly. There was no way in any world he'd be able to either brew Felix Felicis, nor did he believe himself to be so lucky as to get his hands on a dose. But though Felix Felicis would probably give him instant success, it was not the only thing that gave luck, confidence, intuition and all that. There were other potions and some spells, which affected the subject's mental state in one way or another. Some depressed the subject, like the Dementor's effect. Others gave fake emotions, like love potions…

"Cheering charms?" Harry murmured thoughtfully and stood up, steadying his son against his shoulder. As he headed upstairs to see if he had a book with cheering charms in them, he tried to remember how they worked. As far as he could remember, they intensified positive emotions and optimism… it could work.

When he found out that wizard named Felix Summerbee had invented cheering charms, he decided that it was sign from some ethereal deity of luck and decided to give it a go. Figuring that being in such close proximity of someone under the influence of cheering charms maybe wasn't too safe, Harry took Tom, who seemed tired anyway, to his crib and asked Merrit to look after him. Then, not bothering to check if people could cast cheering charms on themselves, Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at himself.

When he came to he was lying on the couch with a pounding headache, with a worried Merrit looking down at him and Hugh was laughing like a maniac into a wall. It didn't take more than few seconds of the agonised pulsing of his head and the way the world turned around him for him to figure out that maybe the idea hadn't been a good one.

"M-Master?" his house-elf asked worriedly. "A-are you okay? Do you still want to paint the sitting room yellow?"

"Paint the… what?" Harry frowned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Oh bloody hell, my head…" he groaned while Merrit fiddled with the hem of her toga-pillowcase and Hugh tried to smother giggles very poorly. "Merrit, never use cheering charms on yourself. And make sure I won't do it either."

"No, no, you got to do that again, Mr. Newman, it was hilarious!" Hugh choked out between chortles. "Three hours of pure awesomeness. I haven't laughed this much in years!"

"I'm glad I managed to offer you some amusement," Harry growled, trying to sit up but then quickly deciding that it was a very bad idea. Trying to swallow down the bitter taste of bile, he blinked blearily at the ceiling. Oh Merlin, he hadn't vomited, had he? "How on earth does this feel worse than a hangover?" he asked confusedly. "It was just a bloody cheering charm."

"Y-you've had two doses of Wit Sharpening potion today, Master," Merrit said softly. "M-Merrit checked the book, it said that the potion might e-escalate the effects of e-emotional magic…"

Harry groaned, hiding his eyes behind his hands. It was just his luck. He had managed to accidentally drug himself with a mixture of Wit Sharpening potions and cheering charms -- and he didn't even know if it had been worth it. "Tell me what I did? In the least humiliating way you can possibly manage, I implore you," he moaned.

"Well, at first you spend about ten minutes going over what a wonderful library you had," Hugh snickered. "Going over the books and the walls and bookcases -- and for a moment there I honestly thought you were in love with your work desk… then you went to the hall and went on about what an awesome carpet you had -- I think you tried to get its autograph for a moment…"

Harry groaned while Hugh continued on about how Harry had marvelled at everything he encountered. He turned his eyes to Merrit imploringly. "Is Tom ok?" he asked.

"Y-yes Master, he's still sleeping in his crib," the elf nodded quickly. "Y-you never went to his room."

"Oh, thank gods," Harry sighed. "Did I break anything, or do any damage?"

"No, sir."

"… then Aderyn flew in, and boy was she stunned! I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't return for a week or two -- you tried to give her a kiss, I think. I'm not sure; I was too busy laughing… Nightmare seemed to figure out that was the time to take off too; she might stay out for day or two too…"

Harry sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands again. Never ever, ever would he try that again. It was no use asking if he had actually done what he had planned to do. Apparently he had been too high to do anything relatively intelligent. He could only thank the stars that there hadn't been any actual humans nearby to see -- excluding Hugh of course.

"You think I could take a headache potion?" Harry asked Merrit hopefully.

"Me-Merrit doesn't think that would be a wise idea, Master," the elf winced slightly. Harry sighed morosely.

"… don't know what you were doing at the entrance the hall, though," Hugh continued with snicker. "You just kept waving your wand at the wall just under the staircase. You were doing that for half an hour I think. Didn't manage to actually do anything though… then I think you tried to give Arithmancy values to the stairs…"

Harry looked up at him. "I did something… under the stairs in the hall?" he asked slowly. That was where the door and the stairs to the basement were.

"Yeah. Kept waving your wand along while mumbling. I think you were trying to cast a spell, but it didn't seem to do anything as far as I could tell," Hugh snorted. "No offence Mr. Newman, but it was hilarious."

"I think you've gone way past the point where you can say _no offence,_ " Harry snorted and struggled to sit even though it seemed to make the world spin around him. "What about the basement?" he asked then. "Did I do anything in the basement?"

"What basement?" Hugh asked confusedly.

Harry blinked slowly. "The basement… under this house?" he asked hesitatingly. "You know, my laboratory, study place, library?"

Merrit and Hugh both looked at him with confusion, glancing at each other before looking at him now very worriedly. "Master, t-this house doesn't have a basement," Merrit then said slowly. "A-are you feeling alright, Master Harold, sir?"

Harry didn't answer, bolting up from the couch, almost crashing into the tea table, before stumbling out of the sitting room and into the hall. The door under the stairs was still there, and when he wrenched it open it showed the stairs leading down to the basement.

Turning to look over his shoulder to the house-elf and the ghost who had followed him. "You can't see it?" he asked slowly, the excitement he felt making his nausea even worse.

"See what?" Hugh asked, looking between the door handle Harry was holding and Harry himself like the young man had gone insane. "Maybe you should lay down, Mr. Newman. You don't… seem to be feeling very well."

Harry didn't answer. "The workroom of Harold Newman and basement of Waldgrave cottage can be found underneath the stairs to the second floor," he said and grinned widely when sudden apprehension dawned onto the faces of Merrit and Hugh who both then stared at the basement with wonder.

"You did it!" Hugh then gasped while Merrit clasped her hands over her mouth with surprise. Apparently with revelation that the basement existed they also remembered that it had existed previously too.

"I did! Now I just need to figure out how!" Harry grinned back.

 

* * *

 

It was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders -- and it had nothing to do with the passing of the weird magic hangover he had managed to get. The knowledge that the books with their dangerous information, his memories of the future that would never happen in this world, the Peverell Ring, the Invisibility Cloak and now also the Elder Wand were all secure… it was relieving. It was like his life was suddenly several times more secure than it had been since he had entered his new world.

It almost felt like he was allowed to be… a normal wizard now. With everything about his and Tom's true origins hidden away underneath the Fidelius, he was allowed to leave Harry James Potter, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord Voldemort behind him. He was finally and without any restraints, allowed to become Harold Newman, the single parent of Thomas Newman.

He hadn't even noticed how he’d been holding himself back from that. Even though he’d made a conscious decision to embrace Harold Newman onboard the Reality Express, he hadn't really done it. Even if he had been, to the outside world, what he had said he was, he had remained Harry Potter on the inside. And though he knew he couldn't exactly forget eighteen years of his life… it was no longer the current him. It was the past. Harry James Potter had cast the Fidelius on himself.

And though Harold did feel the need to figure out exactly how he had cast the Fidelius and whether he could duplicate the effect or not, he decided to leave it till later. His life had changed in a blur of magical high and hangover and now it was time to celebrate.

"I think I promised Albert to stop by with you, my little prince," Harold murmured to Tom, who had woken from his afternoon nap. "Stopping by there will be the perfect way to celebrate this success, don't you think? Yes it would be. Daddy can have a pint of butterbeer, you can have a bottle of warm milk…"

Hugh and Merrit didn't seem entirely sure if it was quite safe to let him leave the house yet, so Harold and Tom didn't have their celebration that day. Instead Harold spent the rest of the day playing with Tom and once the boy's bedtime came, he reorganised the basement and hid all of his notes on the Fidelius there.

He decided that word of his success considering the spell wouldn't travel away from the house. No one but he, Hugh and Merrit would know. He wouldn't let anyone else know and if they did show curiosity he would say that he had given up on the Fidelius as an impossible feat and would possibly return to it in later years. It would offer some added security – the best way to hide a secret was to make people believe that there was none.

"With the Fidelius figured out, somewhat anyway… I can move onto other things too," Harold murmured while eyeing his hidden library. He had read most of them but he hadn't internalised even a tenth of them. There were several spells in his library he wanted to master. Also he still had Latin, Gaelic, Greek and runes to learn.

And once he had, he would begin his career as a spell inventor. Thankfully with some gold left he had no need to start working in earnest for a while yet, so he could spend some months studying before publishing anything. In that time he would need to both build up knowledge for his future occupation, and the reputation of at least a potential spell creator.

Then he would start picking out the spells in his library which were safe to publish and he would… maybe write a book. Or copyright "his" spells at least. The idea of posing as their inventor still didn't please him much but maybe… eventually… he would actually create his own spells.

"Though first and foremost… maybe I should study this," Harold mused with a grimace while holding up the copy of _The Shields and Swords of the Mind_. Even a Fidelius was only as strong as its Secret Keeper and he knew better than anyone else how exposed his mind was. With a sigh he tucked the book under his arm and searched out the rest of his mental magic books.

Though he had studied some of it, mind magic remained an art not entirely clear to him. Out of the books he had wished into existence, Occlumency and Legilimency were named in only two. In other books the art was simply called either mental magic or telepathy or some other name used in the world where the book was from. One of the books called it telepathy and in others it was called Mind Sharing and Mind Linking. And between the different worlds and their different books, the art of mental magic seemed to differ.

Harold spent the rest of his evening reading through the books, though he had read some of them already a few times before his meeting with Dumbledore and Lily. He ended up finding that despite the variety he had to work with, Occlumency seemed to be the best method of protecting one's mind. The others were interesting in their own right, but… they were different arts altogether.

Though the book about Mind Sharing seemed to be the most sophisticated one of the lot, it had nothing on the ways of protecting your mind. Coming from a world full of people with the talent, Mind Sharing seemed to be a rather neutral talent, like speaking and writing, with no offensive and defensive forms. Telepathy on other hand was almost entirely offensive as far as Harold could tell. It was almost entirely about listening to the minds of other people, occasionally sending thoughts back and forth.

Occlumency was in a way a very special magical art. It was really more of a mental discipline and practice than actual magic at all, Harold found as he delved deeper into it. The other of his two Occlumency friendly books, _The Secrets of Mind's Magic_ explained some of Occlumency's history and it seemed that it had existed long before Legilimency. Occlumency, back when it had had another name and another meaning, had been rather like… magical meditation before Legilimency. The state of an empty, balanced mind that Snape had tried and failed to teach to Harry, had been the original goal of Occlumency.

"When there are no thoughts, emotions and physical imbalances to hinder and disturb the magic, it is peaceful and serene," the book wrote. "This peaceful, harmonious state of magic used to be the goal of Occlumency, not as a defence, but as a spiritual and magical completion. It was believed that a magician could not understand _magic_ before it was completely in harmony inside him…"

Then Legilimency had come along. New branches and ways of using Occlumency had been added, it had been given a whole new definition and it had gone from spiritual accomplishment to mental shield… but still the goal had remained the same. An empty, undisturbed mind with no thoughts, no memories… and no emotions.

The more Harold read about it, the more he wanted to achieve it. But the memory of Snape's lessons and the knowledge of his own mind made him doubt his ability to achieve it. Still he decided to try. Not just because it seemed like a very interesting thing to achieve, but because it would also be the only way to completely protect his Secret.

Accomplished Occumens could even close the truth away from things such as Veritaserum, which was why the potion couldn't be used in legal proceedings. If Harold could learn the truest version of Occlumency… he could hide his secrets from just about anyone. That sounded quite appealing to him.

Especially since his evening studies were interrupted by a letter from Dumbledore, tentatively requesting private a meeting concerting Fidelius.

"Fidelius my ass," Harold snorted with amusement, re-reading the letter. In the elegantly written words, Dumbledore wasn't even trying to hide the fact that the Fidelius was an excuse. It was the Peverell Ring he wanted to talk about. "Sorry, Headmaster, but I do not think that can be arranged. You're a few hours too late, unfortunately."

He sent back a polite refusal, telling the man that he had given up on Fidelius and that he was going to pursue other interests from now on. He was rather certain it wouldn't be enough for the man, that Dumbledore would no doubt try and find another way to get closer to his old goal. One couldn't say that Albus Dumbledore was a quitter after all. But for now it would have to be enough.

After that Harold would try to figure some sort of way of getting Dumbledore off his back, if it was necessary.

 

* * *

Harold managed to stay around only for one day before Harry returned. Like he had planned after recovering from his Fidelius ordeal, Harry decided to take Tom to the Leaky Cauldron to have a somewhat nice meal and some butter beer in celebration. And there, just upon entering the Leaky after a bumpy ride on the Knight Bus, he saw something that made the security of Harold vanish into thin air and all the teenage emotions of Harry returned with a vengeance.

James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin having a cheerful chatter over dinner with one Peter Pettigrew, who was happily waving a pint at something Sirius had said.

With a flash of multicolour Harry was there and he remembered. Remembered the Shrieking Shack and the prisoner of Azkaban falsely charged for someone else's crimes. He remembered the revelation of the true traitor and the cowardly begging of the mousey man who had hidden as a rat for twelve years. He remembered the rat's escape and how Harry and his godfather had almost ended up with their souls being eaten by Dementors -- how said godfather was almost Kissed by a Dementor later that very same horrible night…

He remembered. The rat-like man had sought out his master, found out about Barty Crouch Junior under the Imperius of the Senior and how together they had machinated Voldemort's return. He remembered Cedric's death -- for being the real champion, for being there, for being the spare. He remembered Voldemort's return. And he most definitely remembered the war that had followed and the deaths that had ensued. All thanks to the rat.

He remembered his parents. Dead because of the man's betrayal.

Harry's free hand, the one which wasn't supporting Tom in his sling, sought out his wand before freezing in mid motion. The haze of past rage passed for a moment and, instead of seeing the cowardly traitor, he saw a healthy, slightly overweight young man. And he saw James Potter and Sirius Black sitting beside him, laughing, healthy, young… and alive. Blinking as if coming out from a nightmare, Harry breathed in slowly and remembered something else.

He was living the past that had never happened.

Shaking his head Harry turned his eyes away quickly and breathed in. Tom whined in his sling, making Harry turn his eyes down. Confused child eyes, not yet understanding but still sensing his distress, looked up at him. Harry tensed and relaxed again, for a moment just facing the life he had embraced -- the life he was supposed to be embracing. Then, pushing away his teenage mind and all its bitterness, he walked further into the bar and then to the counter, each step stiff and forced.

Things were different here. Sirius Black had been the Secret Keeper. Peter Pettigrew had never been able to betray the Potters. They had lived and in result Neville Longbottom was the Boy-Who-Lived… Peter Pettigrew might've betrayed them for all Harry knew… but not the Potters. Not Harry's parents.

"Harold!" warm voice greeted him as he sat down. It was Albert who was stepping forward with a warm smile. "And little Thomas. I was hoping to see you two sometime soon."

"Hello Albert," Harry forced a smile and tried to relax despite the sound of laughter he could hear coming from behind him. "Nice to see you're doing well," he added, glancing at the bar. "The Leaky as well. Busy day?"

"Friday," the innkeeper laughed. "Always very busy. Can I get you anything? Something for the little guy maybe?"

"Yes, I'd like something to eat -- and a warm pint of butterbeer would be wonderful," Harry said. "And maybe some milk for Tom. Or do you have any proper milk for a baby here?"

"I have some muggle supplements," Albert nodded. "I'll be right back. Find yourself a seat, why don't you?"

Harry nodded and sat up again, glancing around the bar. It really was full, most of the tables taken, except for the one right in the middle of the room. Right beside the table of the marauders. Harry smothered the urge of swallowing in order to ease his dry throat. Just his luck.

"… and he had no idea," Sirius was telling as Harry sat down, telling some sort of funny story judging by James's and Peter's laugh. "He just kept on branching around like the utter git he is, completely unaware! And the best thing is -- no one told him!"

Harry shuddered slightly as the table exploded in laughter, looking down at Tom. Thankfully the boy didn't seem startled by the loud noises, and was just looking around curiously and kicking slightly in the sling. Harry wasn't as happy-go-lucky though. Peter Pettigrew was just in his field of vision, sitting next to Remus and across from Sirius. It was… some sort of torture for Harry. His dead father, dead godfather, dead professor and the dead betrayer, all sitting at the table next to him, having a good time.

"Oh, Mr. Newman!" Sirius noticed Harry. The man lifted his goblet in Harry's direction. "To non-dark and -ugly pureblood things, right?"

Harry glanced at the man and snorted. "I'm surprised you remember. You were rather drunk, Mr. Black," he said, avoiding looking at Peter's direction as he nodded at James's and Lupin's direction. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin."

"Mr. Newman," they nodded before James narrowed his eyes at Harry's directions. "I've been noticing you having many dealings with my wife, Mr. Newman," he pointed out almost threateningly. "Anything I should be worried about, I wonder?"

"Two business meetings, Mr. Potter, nothing more. The second time we even had Mr. Dumbledore as a chaperone, so I think the integrity of the meeting was assured," Harry assured amusedly. He was both happy and sad that with his success with the Fidelius, those wouldn't be continuing. "And I assure you, I have no intention of making any moves towards your wife."

The man blinked before frowning. "What? Why not? What's wrong with my wife?" he asked much to the amusement of Lupin who snorted into his pint.

"Well… she's _your wife_ for one," Harry snorted shaking his head. "You seem to be in good spirits, gentlemen. What's the occasion?"

"Third weekend of September, the anniversary of our epic friendship!" Sirius announced, lifting his goblet. "This day, ten years ago --"

"Eleven," Lupin intercepted happily.

"-- don't make the number any larger than it already is, Remus," Sirius harrumphed mockingly, before continuing. "This day, ten years ago, we saved Peter from being bullied by some Slytherins… I think they’d hung him from a chandelier in the corridor…"

"Nice of you to remind me, Sirius," the aforementioned man muttered with a grim smile.

"And we," Sirius continued as if he hadn't heard anything, "we being me, Remus and James, being the utmost heroes we are, of course let poor Peter down. And the next day we schemed our very first prank together to pay back in kind the Slytherins who bullied our little Petey. It was epic."

"To epic pranks," James lifted his pint to hit it against Sirius's goblet.

"And to hanging from chandeliers," Remus joined in with a snort of amusement.

"And to you three prats, who never let a bloke forget his embarrassing moments," Pettigrew joined and together they toasted merrily.

Harry felt sick to his stomach watching it and listening how the four reminisced about their early Hogwarts years. He was glad that Albert arrived then, bringing his order and successfully giving Harry an excuse to ignore the four, as hard as it was.

He still couldn't help but wonder. Was Pettigrew a Death Eater in this reality? With Sirius as the Secret Keeper and in Azkaban, Peter couldn't betray anyone, Sirius hadn't needed to hunt him down, and no one had been framed for crime that had never happened. Peter hadn't committed the atrocities here that he was guilty of in Harry's home reality… but maybe there was something else. Was it because of him that the Longbottoms had suffered the horrible fate they had?

Tom let out a sound in the sling and to calm him down Harry offered him the bottle Albert had delivered. Leaning back in his chair Harry frowned slightly. Was it any of his business whether Pettigrew was a Death Eater or not? He hadn't been there when the war had happened, these people weren't his people -- and whatever crimes that had been committed and been left uncommitted… they had nothing to do with him, did they?

Harry had little ties to this world or its wars, no matter what he and Tom were. He wasn't in the Order of the Phoenix and though he did find Voldemort's deeds in this world horrible… they were living in times of peace now. Voldemort was gone -- maybe not indefinitely, but he was still gone for now. And without him Peter the Death Eater was nothing. And even if Pettigrew was a Death Eater, what could Harry do? Tell people about it? Who would believe a young single parent like him, a guy with no background?

Still, it bothered him to no end.

"… any work?" James was asking at the other table when Harry lowered the bottle and tucked into his own meal. "You were looking for some the last time we talked, right?"

"Ah, yeah. I didn't find any. But I'm not in a hurry," Sirius answered. "I still have enough money left to last me a while after all. I'll see if I can find something to do, once it starts looking like I can't manage anymore."

Harry glanced up. Sirius was unemployed? Harry had had the impression that Sirius was an Auror. James was one… but of course, who had ever said that they had the same occupation? When Harry thought about it, he had never heard Sirius, neither the elder nor the younger one, saying anything about what he did for living.

"It shouldn't be too hard, in the end," Sirius continued, draining the last of his drink and placing the goblet down beside his empty plate. "I'm pretty smart, I got good marks on my NEWT's and I'm a bloody pureblood to boot!" he snorted. "Piece of cake."

"How about you Remus? You were working as an assistant somewhere, right?" Pettigrew asked while piling up his polished plates and pushing them aside.

"Yeah, in a wizarding bookstore in Birmingham, a small place but with enough customers," the other man nodded with a somewhat resigned smile and shrugged his shoulders. "It didn't take long before they fired me, of course."

The words were followed by split moment of awkward silence before James leaned back and ordered them a tankard of butterbeer. Harry, trying not to be obvious about it, glanced at the group. There was something there. Some hint of… bitterness?

Because of Lupin's Lycanthropy?

"Stupid anti-werewolf mentality," James muttered under his breath making Harry's eyes widen a fraction. Neither of the marauders noticed as James leaned back and folded his arms. "People are stupid ignorant idiots who can't read a moon charts to save their lives!"

"Hear hear!" Sirius and Peter agreed but Remus only smiled wryly.

Harry swallowed. They were taking about it like there… was no reason to hide it. Remus's affliction was public knowledge? In Harry's world it had taken Snape with his childhood grudge and bitterness and the missed chance of an Order of Merlin First Class, to publicly announce Lupin's cursed state… What in Merlin's name had happened here?

As the marauders moved on to happier subjects, Harry spend a moment of worrying over Remus before letting it go. This Remus Lupin wasn't the Remus Lupin who had taught Harry the Patronus and who had almost left his family for the sake of the Horcrux quest -- and who had ultimately died at Hogwarts. This was a different Remus Lupin who had very little to do with Harry.

Harry could only hope now that Snape would get a move on and publish the Wolfsbane potion soon. Maybe it would help Remus's situation some.

Sighing softly, the young man turned his eyes downward and to his son who was dosing off in the sling despite the noise. He wished he could go back to being Harold Newman. It had been blissful for as long as it had lasted.


	12. Barricade of Studies

Harry could admit to himself with a small amount of shame that before seeing the Marauders, he hadn't really cared all that much about the differences between the two worlds -- or given much thought to the possibility of war. Oh, sure, he had read and figured out where the world stood, but really he had only read as much as he needed to blend in, and not seem like he had lived in a cave for most of his life. And really, all he had really cared about was security – the security of his secrets and Tom's safety. Even Dumbledore's warning in the past Daily Prophets, even the knowledge that Voldemort would most likely return -- even meeting with Regulus Black -- hadn't really registered to him.

But now it was different. Seeing Peter Pettigrew, free and apparently under no suspicion, was like a wakeup call - or the straw that fell and broke the camel's back. Harry could no longer consider the past and the future of this world as something that was mildly important but just not yet pressing. He could no longer think in the way he had previously. Especially now that he had managed Fidelius, it was time to move forward. Maybe even prepare.

Because if another war against Voldemort would ensue - and it was likely that it would - Harry needed to be on top of things and not just _aware_ of them. He would most likely get involved one way or another - as he wasn't a man capable of standing at the side-lines and watching other people fight after all. And when he would fail to remain in the side-lines, he couldn't just fall back on the knowledge of his own world and expect to be one step ahead, because it was obvious now that it would do him little good here. The worlds were too different for that.

"The first thing I need to do is to figure out the exact changes between the two worlds," Harry murmured while spreading parchment over the desk in the Fidelied basement. If he knew exactly which things were the same and which were different - and more importantly, _why_ they were different - then he could compare the worlds fully to each other and maybe predict which way this world would go and what way it wouldn't. It would be like divination based on history rather than the future.

But he wasn't sure where to begin. He had some concept of the differences already from his earlier research, but it wasn't good enough, especially since his knowledge of his own history was flawed to say the least. "Well, I should probably start with what I know about my original world," he muttered to himself. "And then compare it all to this one."

Taking out a quill and dipping it in ink, he for a moment wondered where to start, before deciding that it was best to start with the oldest combining factor. The Hallows. He had the ones from his own world, but he knew that they existed here as well. If they had not, Dumbledore wouldn’t have been so curious about his ring. However, he had no knowledge where they were. Dumbledore probably had the Elder Wand, but had Voldemort taken the ring from his uncle, and if so where was it now? And was the Invisibility Cloak in the possession of the Potter family, or had Dumbledore borrowed it again, or what?

After writing down the Horcrux history as far as he knew from his own world and the routes they had taken to get to the points where he had found them, Harry turned to Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was pretty much the same in both worlds as far as he could say, which was rather relieving. Harry quickly wrote down what he knew of Dumbledore's history, about Aberforth and Ariana and even Dumbledore's parents and what he knew of Dumbledore's relationship with Grindelwald. He would need to research Dumbledore's past here more thoroughly, he realised, to see if there were differences. For now, there seemed to be more similarities though - at least Aberforth was in same spot he had been back in Harry's original world. So, thankfully, the Headmaster gave the two worlds some consistencies which Harry much preferred to have.

Voldemort however wasn't the same.

"So… the changes probably started with him. Following that… everyone in contact with Voldemort might be different as well," Harry muttered. The Horcruxes had, without a doubt, distorted Voldemort's mind and made him unstable in Harry's world. Without that here, Voldemort might've made different choices and his actions might've had different effects. Already some of Voldemort's victims were different. Some who had died were living - like the Potters - and some others were dead - like Frank Longbottom. People who Harry knew to be Death Eaters might not be, here. And following that, people who weren't in Harry's world, might very well be following Voldemort here…

Shaking his head, Harry continued to write. He wrote down all of Voldemort's victims and followers as far as he knew, starting with the Riddles and Myrtle, vaguely wondering if she was dead here - and if Voldemort had ever unleashed the basilisk. Then he wrote down Voldemort's actions over the years, starting with Hogwarts, his short employment at Borgin and Burkes, the following years of "travelling" and how the war had then tentatively started after Dumbledore had declined Voldemort's application for the defence against the dark arts post…

After he was done writing, Harry frowned. His knowledge about his former nemesis was pathetically short on detail, in everything else except for the Horcruxes. Aside from the passing mention from the Order members here and there, he knew little about the war in general. Especially since the information from Order members was usually _about_ Order members, not about the other side.

In all honesty, he didn't know much about Voldemort's victims before nineteen ninety four, or about his followers. He didn't know who he had recruited and when and why - except for a handful of Death Eaters and in most of those cases he lacked detail. He didn't know who he had killed and when and why - except for some of the Order members who had fallen before the fateful Halloween. Considering that his whole purpose had been more or less to defeat Voldemort, he knew painfully little about his tactics, strategies and armies.

"Though maybe at the time that was a good thing," Harry snorted. The less he had known, the less he had worried, most likely. And at the time he hadn't particularly cared either. But why would he, when things had been so nicely simple? Destroy Horcruxes, kill Voldemort. Nice and short. Add Voldemort's armies and personal servants and inner circle and everything else supporting him into the mix and suddenly it wasn't so simple.

Shaking his head once more to get the thought out of his mind, Harry turned his attention back to the parchment and started to write down the facts of his new world. This was a more complete task than with the facts of his original world, as he had studied the past of the world - or at least the last years of the war - somewhat thoroughly. But, as he had suspected, eventually he ran into a wall with that knowledge as well and had to return to the old Prophets he still had up in the second floor library. Thankfully at the time of the war, the Prophet had still had a slew of good reporters and a not bad editor, so the papers were loaded with information about the deaths, and details about attacks, if nothing else.

By the time he considered himself finished with the task, Harry had moved up from single sheets of parchments and started pinning them to the walls of his study, building one wall full of facts about his own world and another with this world, trying to build coherent timelines that would be easier to follow. He added newspaper clippings to them along with pictures, points and people of interest, building a list of victims, possible followers and a chain of events hoping to find a pattern. Once he was done, the wall of facts had gotten some interesting coherency but still had gaping holes. The list of followers was shaky at least, and some of the events that had taken place made no sense.

"Well," he murmured while frowning at the walls. "At least now I know how little I really know."

He finished his initial research with a list of things to do - or, more accurately, things to _research_. Firstly, Dumbledore, his history and influence. Secondly, buy history books of this world, about the war, about the previous war and possibly some other things that might be interesting. Thirdly, figure out _why_ some events were different. And lastly, research this world's methods of immortality. Voldemort had no Horcruxes but he had _something_ and having even a vague idea what it was would be better than nothing.

Once he knew all that, then he would know what he would need to do to be ready.

"Master?" Merrit interrupted his studies while he was contemplating on whether or not it would be worth it to try and find some information from Knockturn Alley. "It is getting late. Should Merrit put Little Master to bed?"

Harry looked up, only then realising that he had spent the entire day on his project. "No, I'll do it," he said, immediately abandoning the parchments. "Could you put some tea on for me while I do, Merrit? Thank you."

He found Tom in the living room where Hugh was watching the boy. Merrit had apparently been entertaining him with some toys, but it was easy to see that the boy was getting tired. Scooping him up from the floor and feeling rather guilty for neglecting him throughout the day, Harry kissed the boy's head. "Did you have a good day, my little prince? How about Daddy gets something for you to eat and then its sleepy time for you…?"

Tom answered with a yawn and a soft string of nonsensical babble and then, out of nowhere, said, "da-da" while making a reaching motion towards Harry. The wizard froze in the middle of a step, staring down to the child with complete shock while Tom's little hand reached for a lock of Harry's lengthy hair and tugged at it slightly. Then, to his utter horror and embarrassment, Harry felt terrible ache settle to his throat while his vision turned slightly blurry around the edges.

"Are you alright, Mr. Newman?" Hugh asked, floating closer curiously. "You look kind of weird."

Harry didn't answer, teetering in the edge of being an eighteen year old teenager and an overenthusiastic father. The balancing lasted for a moment before the latter won and with a whoop of joy, Harry brought his son closer. "Did you hear that, Hugh?! He spoke! My little prince said his first word!" he enthused, holding a now giggling Tom closer and nuzzling his nose against the boy's hair happily. "And it was Dada! My brilliant little boy, daddy is _so_ proud of you!"

Hugh gave him look of mixed surprise and horror while Harry skipped to the kitchen to give Merrit the happy news. "Parents," the ghost sighed, then shrugged his shoulders and followed him.

After that first day of his timeline research, Harry decided to make an actual plan for his studies. Maybe it was the echoes of his friendship with Hermione, but he almost felt stupid and guilty for not doing one before. Before he had studied whatever he had deemed important and that had been fine, but it wasn't quite so anymore. Tom was getting older and slept less - and thus needed more attention from him. Merrit had also mentioned that the boy sometimes got anxious when Harry was gone for too long, which Harry didn't quite know how to react to. But he wasn't about to neglect the boy in any way. Not after what such treatment had done to Tom before - and to Harry himself, in a lesser degree.

Also, Harry realised that studying history all day wasn't enough. As important as figuring out the past was, it would do him no good if he  did only that, then got surprised by how fast the future came. Starting to prepare now was better than starting _too late_.

He needed to also study Occlumency - because the Fidelius was only as secure as he was after all - and he needed to study other things as well. He couldn't become a spell creator without some knowledge after all. He needed to study languages, the theory of spell work, and some spells too. Updating his knowledge with this world’s defence and battle magic would probably be useful as well later on - especially if there was a war. After all, this time there was no Hermione or Order of the Phoenix to count on - and he had something, someone, to protect.

Harry decided that he would spend the mornings before Tom woke up studying Occlumency and magic, as it was probably the time his mind was the sharpest. Then he would be with the boy until it was his nap time, and then continue studying and practicing languages, especially Greek since he was supposed to know it. Then he'd again spend some time with Tom until it was the evening and then he'd research history and build the timelines further, if he found something to add.

He didn't buy any more books, though. After checking his vault, he came to the conclusion that it was time to start being more conservativewith his money. He still had enough to support his family, but if he kept buying books left and right, it wouldn't last. So, he started to frequent the wizarding branch of the British Library instead. It was handier to borrow a book than buy it because of a few interesting sentences in it, anyway.

That was where Dumbledore found him.

 

* * *

"So Gebo in inclusion of Ansuz and Raido and I get… a way to control sea winds?" Harry muttered under his breath while leafing through a rune book. "Okay, how the heck does that work out? Gebo's the rune of partnership and compassion, sure, I suppose that would work as a way of taming the wind or partnering with it, but Ansuz? Well, on the other hand, communication and all, hmm… and Raido, the rune of journeys and such. Partnership, communication, journeys. The first thing that comes to mind after that isn't exactly sea winds…"

He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. Lovely thing about studying. You start cross-referencing things about soul magic and every bit of information you can find concerning immortality and suddenly you're studying ancient rune magic without any idea how you got there. He had to wonder if that was how Hermione had accumulated the seemingly limitless information - she had gotten lost on the path of life while cross-referencing stuff.

"I need to get back on track," he sighed, running his hand down his face and almost knocking his glasses askew. Pushing them back in place, he closed the rune book and pushed it aside while pulling the alchemy tome that described the theory behind Panacea. He rather doubted it was something someone like Voldemort would be using, but still, the all-cure-potion or whatever Panacea was supposed to be was probably something that would interest Voldemort. And it was the first theory that had eventually led into the concept of Philosopher's Stone too.

The Philosopher's Stone wasn't the source of Voldemort's immortality, of that Harry was somewhat sure. The thing about the Philosopher's Stone was that the Elixir of Life worked rather like a youth potion - it regenerated and restored the body. Of course, for someone with a deadly wound it would work like an instant-cure, heal the wound and then some… but it was no protection against being killed. Avada Kedavra could kill Nicolas Flamel just as well as it could kill anyone - Chosen Ones not included, of course.

He couldn't completely rule out the Stone's, or Panacea's, involvement, though - and if Voldemort could get access to them, he no doubt would take them. If Voldemort was as intelligent as Harry feared, he would've hoarded different methods aside from the one that was the primary method of immortality. That was at least what Harry would've done if he had been a Dark Lord - he would've had backup plans.

Horcrux-Voldemort hadn't had any, of course, but Harry was pretty sure that that was because of his obvious lack of sanity.

As Harry wrote down the facts about Panacea to add to his list as things to look out for, a shadow fell over him. Before Harry noticed it, Albus Dumbledore had already bent low and read some of his notes, and as the younger man snapped his eyes up, the old man had a thoughtful look about his aged face.

" _Merlin_ , Professor Dumbledore, you almost made me tip my inkwell over! Has no one ever told you it's not polite to sneak up on people?" Harry asked, after the impulse of covering his research like it was something secret had passed.

"My apologies, Mr. Newman. You seemed so focused that I did not want to disturb you - and I got quite curious about what could command such concentration," the old man said with a smile. "I did not mean you startle you so."

"Uhhuh," Harry muttered, smothering the urge to shudder as he casually closed his notebook before Dumbledore saw the rest of the list. He didn't even want to know what sort of conclusions the man could've drawn from a list of various immortality-devices. "Can I do something for you, Professor?"

"I wouldn't like to bother you if your research is important," Dumbledore said, even while placing the books he had been carrying under his arms to the table with every intention of sitting down. "Panacea, I see. Spell creation and Alchemy - you have quite varying interests, Mr. Newman."

"I'm curious by nature," Harry answered, wondering if it would be too impolite to gather things and just up and leave. Probably - and Dumbledore wasn't a man he wanted to insult. True, Dumbledore probably wouldn't have taken insult anyway, he was a hard man to truly anger… but in any case, running away would probably do more damage than staying.

"Wonderful trait in a scholar," Dumbledore agreed while pulling out a chair. The old man looked at Harry, apparently waiting for a sign of objection. Harry bit his tongue and said nothing, and soon the old man smiled and sat down. "I wonder, Mr. Newman, if you've reconsidered studying the Fidelius. It is a wonderful charm."

Harry blinked, for a moment wondering if the old man was talking in code. "Perhaps, but a bit redundant in times of peace - unless you're suspicious and paranoid by nature… or involved in illegal activities," he said after a moment, turning his eyes back to the books. "I've decided to turn my attention to more practical ventures."

"Panacea strikes you as practical?" Dumbledore seemed amused. "It has only been completed twice, and the success was only temporary both times. Even Nicolas Flamel cannot make Panacea."

"It is not the cure itself, but the idea behind it, and the stories surrounding," Harry said, more or less making it up as he went. "Old myths are a great source of inspiration."

"True, true," Dumbledore agreed, absently taking one of his books - one about advanced Transfiguration by the looks of it. "Have you ever looked into the myths surrounding the Peverells?"

Harry just managed to keep himself from freezing up and scowling. "I know the story well enough - but aside from bedtime stories my mother read to me, and what little research I did on Ignatius and the supposed original Invisibility Cloak, I have not paid much attention to the legends surrounding the three brothers."

"You are interested in the Invisibility Cloak?" Dumbledore seemed curious - and if Harry had not known him, that would've been all he had seemed to feel. But he could sense the calculation behind the casual question."

"Not the Invisibility Cloak - the cloaks in general. I once thought that Ignatius Peverell might've only been a magical inventor who was the first to try making a garment like that - and then history and stories blew his invention out of proportions," Harry waved his hand at the matter, trying to play the part of scholar he was apparently supposed to be. The idea that Ignatius had been the inventor and not just the possessor of the first Invisibility Cloak had come up in one of the books he had read - and he could vaguely remember Hermione saying something like that too. He could only hope he had gotten the theory right.

"And the stories of his brothers?" Dumbledore asked, raising his white eyebrows.

"Perhaps invention ran in the family," Harry shrugged his shoulders in apparent disinterest, and opened one of the books he had before him. He couldn't even see the text, but he was pretty sure it was the rune book.

"I see you have no interest in them," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully while leaning back. "Not even the Stone? Despite the ring…" he glanced down and paused. "The ring you seem to not feel inclined to wear anymore."

Harry sighed. "I wore it as a memento of my mother," he lied. "But the ring is big and gets caught in things - very nearly tore a parchment the other day," he paused, and then got an idea. "On top of that the mark on it draws attention - people sometimes question whether I got it from a supporter of Grindelwald, or if I am one myself! I think I will honour my mother well enough by keeping the ring in my vault. It's not very wise keeping bite sized objects around infants in any case."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "So the ring is a memento from your mother?"

"One of the few pieces of jewellery she ever bothered to wear. Something of a family heirloom, I think," Harry said, shaking his head and then decided that this was about as much information as he could give without venturing into unknown and baseless territories - and too much lying would only get him into trouble. "You have an interest in the Hallows, then?" he asked while taking his quill and cleaning it with a piece of rag. He wasn't going to get any more writing done, it seemed.

"Ah, it is something of an old hobby," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I have been collecting stories of the Hallows for a few decades now, trying to track down their current locations. One could even say I'm on a bit of a quest," he chuckled. "When I saw that ring I thought I might've found the Stone at last. It had never occurred to me that someone might've set it in a ring."

"I'm sorry to disappoint," Harry said without looking up from the quill.

"Are you sure you have?" Dumbledore asked, looking him seriously. "It might be that the stone in your ring is indeed the Resurrection Stone - only that you do not know it is."

"I think I would've noticed," Harry chuckled, trying not to give anything up.

"Would you really? Have you tried it?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry hesitated - first because he obviously had and because he knew he couldn't deter Dumbledore without actually letting the man try, and obviously he couldn't do that. But then, another thought settled in. Dumbledore wanted to resurrect Ariana - no doubt most people had some loved one they would've liked to resurrect even if for a moment. Harry himself had gone and done it. And Harold Newman…

After a moment of quiet, Harry looked up and scowled at the man. "Of _course_ I've tried," he said, taking the man aback a little. "Perhaps you did not know this, Professor, but my wife died a handful of months ago. Do you think I did not _try_ …" he trailed away, shaking his head sharply. "Trust me when I say, it is just a stone with the Hallows' mark carved on it. If there is such thing as the Resurrection Stone, it is certainly not in my ring."

Dumbledore blinked, and the composed himself so quickly that Harry very nearly missed the disappointment. Then the old man reached out and squeezed Harry's hand compassionately. "I am very sorry. I imagine my nosing in brought up some bad memories," he said quietly and patted the younger wizard's hand. "Do forgive this old man's curiosity, my boy. I meant no ill."

If Harry hadn't been so relieved that his sudden idea had actually worked, he would've snorted. Meant no ill. Dumbledore never meant any ill. "It's alright," he said, shaking his head and pulling his hand free so that he could start piling up his books. He didn't feel like staying now - he had lied so much it was making him feel a little sick. "I think it's time I head home. Thomas will be waking up from his nap soon."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, smiling genially and standing as well. "I apologise for my intrusiveness. Perhaps I could make it up to you some later day, perhaps with some tea?"

"That is quite alright," Harry said, tucking the books under his arm and hiding the notes in his inner pocket.

"I must insist," Dumbledore smiled. "Perhaps this weekend?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps," he said evasively. "How about I send an owl if I have some free time then?"

"Splendid," the old man said delightedly. "I will be waiting for your owl then. Have a good day, my boy."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry nodded and watched as the old man headed off and deeper into the public library. "And good day to you too."

 

* * *

A few days later Harry was wondering how to politely decline Dumbledore's tea offerings - and, not for the first time, why had the Conductor decided on Greece and not any suitably _English_ nation - when the Daily Prophet brought in first bit of good news in a while. After catching a glimpse of the headline, Harry happily set down his Greek studies and his worries about the letter, and quickly leafed through to the article.

"Revolutionary Wolfsbane!" said the article headline with sub-headline below saying, "Hogwarts Professor Discovers cure to Lycanthropy!"

Harry frowned at the headlines for a moment, as Wolfsbane was not exactly a _cure_ as much as it was a… medicine to reduce the symptoms. Snape should've known that by now, if he had been testing the formula. Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention to the text and saw that Snape, who had been interviewed for the article, hadn't actually made such proclamations - that had been Prophet's addition. Snape had explained the potion pretty well, while the reporter had more or less ran away with his assumptions.

Harry also found, to his surprise and slight delight, that Snape did not take the credit. _"The formula was delivered to me by a potions master who wishes to remain anonymous,"_ Snape was recorded to have said. _"I tested and studied the potion of course to verify its potency, but I cannot claim to have created it."_

"Good job, Professor," Harry muttered with satisfaction, as he reached the bottom of the article and read about plans for a department at the Ministry that would take up the potion's production and distribution. It puzzled him for a moment, before he realised something that made him smile. Dolores Umbridge was apparently not yet working at the Ministry - or if she was, she wasn't in a high enough position to have a negative enough influence to stop rational thought - or turn healthy fear and the respect it spawned into bigotry.

Harry had no doubt that the Ministry would be getting some anonymous donations for their new Wolfsbane office from people who would much rather see sentient wolves running about at the full moon, rather than raging beasts. It might change in a few years, of course, but it was a better start than he had hoped for.

And it stood in nice testimony for his old Potions Professor's character.

"That's one thing I won't have to worry about then," Harry said, and turned his attention away from the paper and to Tom, who was lying on the floor, gleefully shaking a soft toy that made rattling noises at certain angles. "Well don't you look happy?" he said, folding the paper again to read more thoroughly later. Then he glanced between his books and his son, and chose the latter.

"You know what, Tom?" he said while lying down beside the boy, who let out a delighted coo at the sight of him and immediately turned over to crawl on top of him. "I envy you," Harry said while wrapping his arms around the giggling baby. "No studies, no worries - no Dumbledore. And no worries about grandpa Voldemort starting a new war, either! Your life is absolutely ideal. I'm so envious," he added, and lifted the boy momentarily to the air. "What say you to that, my little prince?"

"Dada!" the boy shrieked gleefully, shaking the rattling toy in excitement. "Dadada…"

"Excellent point," Harry conceded with a grin, hefting the boy up and down to his utter delight. "I am daddy and you are my squiggly little monster of a prince, and I should just suck it up and get back to work because I have you to protect. Very eloquently put, my son!"

Tom giggled happily and snuggled closer when Harry settled him back down on his chest.

"Hm…" Harry hummed quietly as the boy drooled against his shirt. The Werewolf thing was handled, and maybe Dumbledore's curiosity about the ring had been put to rest, for now at least… but there was so much to do - and even more to learn. His Occlumency was shoddy, as was his Greek - not to mention about the other languages. The only things he was picking up quickly were some of the protection and battle spells he had been looking into - and they wouldn't help him much with spell creation unless he wanted to start producing war spells. He still hadn't quite figured out how he had cast the Fidelius on top of everything…

"I wonder if there's a faster way to learn," he murmured against Tom's baby fine hair. If he could scratch some things off the list, it wouldn't be so overwhelming. His vault was slowly but steadily emptying too, he needed to figure out what he would do for living too, and that would make his studies harder.

If he could at least scratch the languages of the list, that alone would lessen his load a lot.

While Tom did his best to chew a hole through his shirt, Harry thought about it. Dumbledore knew how to speak Mermish. And hadn't Barty Crouch Senior known something like two hundred languages? How did they do that? There was not enough time in a _lifetime_ to learn that many languages. Was there some sort of magical ability you had to be born with, like Metamorphmagus and Parselmouth abilities, something like that but with languages? Or was it something else? A spell, perhaps? Or a potion?

It was worth looking into.

He closed his eyes for a moment and yawned. He'd look into it after a nap.


	13. Shopping Interlude

"Selene, you still have nine months to go before your baby is born, isn't this a bit early?" Harry asked, more amused than anything as he followed the excited witch across the store, ducking a charmed mobile that was spinning and playing a soft melody as he went. He had visited the place himself, buying new clothes and toys for Tom and such, but he didn't think he had ever run across it with such enthusiasm as his friend did.

"Eight and half months, Harold, eight and half. And it is never too soon to prepare," Selene answered cheerfully while holding a tiny set of baby-blue robes in her free hand - naming ceremony robes, Harry thought. "Oh, look at this! It's so tiny! I can still remember Luna's ceremony… She had yellow robes, and a golden ring, didn't you, sweetie?" she asked, turning to her daughter, who was supported in a sling at her hip and was more interested in the mobiles hanging from the ceiling.

Harry shook his head. "Women," he said to Tom, but was ignored in favour of the mobiles as well. "Children," he readjusted his exasperated plea. "Ditching their parents for flashy toys. Go figure."

"Don't be such a grouch," Selene said, and held out the naming robes at Harry. "Aren't these cute? Admit it, these are cute. Admit it!"

"Maybe. I don't see the overwhelming charm in them, though," Harry answered with amusement while accepting the tiny set of robes.

"What were Tom's robes like?" Selene asked. "Or do they hold naming ceremonies in Greece like they do here?"

Harry hesitated before shrugging his shoulder. "I wanted Tom to have a British ceremony, so yeah. His robes were white," he answered, looking away and hoping that Selene didn't ask any more questions. He had read about the naming ceremonies, but obviously he had no first-hand experience. He hadn't even been there for Teddy's naming ceremony… "So, I take it you're hoping for a boy?" he asked, indicating the blue robes.

"It would be nice. You know, to have a complete set. A girl and a boy," Selene admitted. "Not that there would be anything wrong with a girl too, it would be easier for her and Luna to bond." She turned away again, attracted by the sight of tiny baby booties. "Oh, look at these things! So tiny!"

"Luna's aren't that much bigger," Harry answered, wondering what was so wondrous about a size. If she wanted small booties, she could take Luna's and shrink them if she felt like it.

"Yes, of course, but it's just not the same. Oh, look at the little bells, isn't that adorable…?"

The wizard shook his head and said nothing as the witch went about the store, marvelling all things tiny and cute. He was starting to hope he hadn't promised to come with her to shop for baby things - he had in a way assumed that it was stuff she wanted for Luna, and that he'd get the chance to see what sort of things Tom might need when he'd be Luna's age. This weird… baby fantasying wasn't his thing.

"Selene, I need to visit a potion's store," he said finally, as his feet started to ache with standing around. Not to mention that the looks he was getting from the manager - who always seemed to give him funny looks - started to seriously irritate him. Not to mention the fact that Tom was starting to get irritated and walking around some more would get the boy settled easier than standing around would. "What say you I step out for a moment and we meet in the Leaky Cauldron in a half-an-hour?"

"Make it an hour, I want to get some new clothes for Luna," Selene answered absently while aiming a silly grin at what looked dangerously like a bonnet.

"Alright then, an hour it is. I can visit the other stores while I'm at it," Harry said, and quickly made his escape - as quickly as one could with a baby strapped to their chest. "Alright then, my prince," the elder Newman said. "More scarab beetles and then let's look through some books."

The boy cooed softly, but didn't really answer. Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to his hair, and then headed off, rubbing the boy's back and trying to soothe him into sleep. Maybe that way the boy wouldn't notice him casting a bubble head charm on him before the potion's store - these days the charm made the boy react very noisily. Having a bubble around his head was a source of incredible excitement for the baby boy, it seemed.

Thankfully, Tom was nodding off by the time Harry made it to the shop through the early morning crowd, and he did manage to cast the spell without enticing a noisy approval from the boy. Smiling, Harry entered the store and made his way to the shelf where they had insect parts. The store had apparently restocked, as the shelf was fuller than it had been the last time - and they had started bottling the scarab beetles too. Last time all the beetles had been in a large jar and had to be measured into a smaller bottle.

After calculating the prices in his head and realising that the price had actually gone down a little with the new containment, Harry selected a small jar of the beetles before heading towards the counter to pay for it. It wasn't until he made it to the front of the store, when he saw that he wasn't the only customer. A man with fine robes and long blonde hair stood by the counter already, as the manager put his various purchases into a bag.

Harry blinked sharply, and then swallowed. It would take more than travel through dimensions and time for him not to immediately recognise a Malfoy. Or Lucius Malfoy for that matter. He had never seen the man so young, of course, but the posture alone was hard to forget, after all the encounters - and battles.

"Ah, Mr. Newman. More beetles?" the store keeper asked, noticing Harry.

"I don't seem to buy anything else, do I?" Harry asked with a fleeting smile.

"You've single-handedly bought more scarab beetles and armadillo bile, than all of my other customers have in the whole last year. I certainly don't mind the business," the manager said with a grin. "What do you think of the bottling?"

"Seems to make things easier," Harry nodded, placing the bottle to the corner of the counter so that he could bring out his money satchel.

"Armadillo bile and scarab beetles? Wit sharpening potion, I assume?" Lucius Malfoy spoke, looking him up and down and somehow managed to do it down his nose. He came just short of giving Tom a sneer.

"Yes. It helps while studying, makes it easier to recall things afterwards," Harry agreed without acknowledging the tone of voice. "Especially when studying languages."

"I suppose you study languages manually then. How tiresome," Malfoy answered and accepted his purchases from the manager. "Thank you, Charles. Do inform me when my order arrives."

"As you wish, Mr. Malfoy," the store keeper answered, and together he and Harry watched as the wealthy pureblood more or less sauntered out of the shop. "Good business, the Malfoys, but I think I prefer to do business with just about anyone else," the man said, shaking his head and then taking the beetle jar Harry had placed on the counter.

"What did he mean, studying languages manually?" Harry asked, frowning and wondering. He had expected Malfoy to be alive - he was also pretty sure that the man had been a Death Eater. What he had not expected was the oddly tired look about the man. Lucius had had dark circles around his eyes, and his cheeks had actually looked a little hollowed. He looked like he had in the end of the second war. "It's… pretty much the only way to study them, isn't it?"

The manager gave him a look and then made a face. "There are other ways. Illegal ways," he said, glancing around the shop and then leaning forward. "I've heard that there's a Skill Dealer in the Knockturn Alley," he said, shuddering slightly. "I'd bet my store that was what Mr. Malfoy meant."

"A… skill dealer?" Harry asked, more curious than horrified like the manager seemed to be. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know anything, of course. Don't touch dark magic, I don't. But I hear that they steal the skills of people and then can sell them on to others," the manager said in low whisper. "Languages and such too. They just take a person's skill at that language, and then give it to someone else."

"That sort of thing is possible?" Harry asked in fascination.

"With dark magic, everything is possible," the store keeper said, shuddering again. "You didn't hear it from me, though. I'm a law abiding citizen, I don't touch that sort of stuff. Now, do you want anything else, Mr. Newman?"

Harry left the shop deep in thought. Taking the skill of one person and giving it to other? It sounded a bit too fantastical to be the actual truth, but stories usually had some sort of origins. And there was Parseltongue too - Harry hadn't learned it, he had received it from Voldemort. It wouldn't hurt to check this dealer out - not that he was interested in dark magic, the very idea made him feel a bit nauseous… but if it could be done in one way, then maybe it could be done in another.

And at this point he'd happily do something a little immoral just as long as he'd be freed of Greek, Latin and Gaelic. Even with the wit sharpening potion, languages weren't his thing - he was learning Arithmancy and runes much faster than the bloody languages.

He was still thinking about if after having visited Flourish and Blotts and becoming disappointed in their section about learning aids and heading for the Leaky Cauldron. Selene on other hand was still in baby-mania, and had bought a few baby books. She was babbling almost non-stop about the new nappies they had, which were self-cleaning, and about the self-rocking cribs.

"You know what, I think you should publish the _Materlactimenti_ ," she said while leafing through the books. "It would make the lives of dozens if not hundreds of mothers much easier."

Harry, who was eating a late breakfast hummed absently. "That useful, huh?"

"Yeah. The beauty of the spell is that it can be used by males - and by people of all age, too," Selene said, settling Luna a little better in her lap, and handing the squirming little girl a piece of her scone. "Not to mention the fact that it's the first evidence I've ever encountered about it being able to bend the Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration,"

Harry blinked, absently recalling the law. "Oh? You've looked into it, then?"

"Of course," Selene answered in mocking imperiousness, and quickly emptied her juice glass before taking out her wand, and casting the _Materlactimenti_ onto it. "At first sight it looks like I conjured the milk out of nothing, doesn't it?" she said. "Not true, of course, as the things that are conjured out of nothing never last, and _Materlactimenti_ causes not only a physical but a lasting effect. This is, in fact, true mother's milk, and not just a physical illusion of it."

"Uhhuh. And?" the wizard asked, raising his eyebrows.

"And stuff like that should be impossible; it breaks Gamp's Law. But, actually, it doesn't," Selene said. "This spell is _beautiful_. Its part charm, part transfiguration, it reminds me of certain healing charms in fact. You know how the charms that heal broken bones work, of course. They siphon material from the rest of the body to repair the cut. Calcium and whatnot."

"Of course," Harry nodded. No, he had not known that, but Selene was on a roll and what kind of friend would he be if he interrupted her?

"So, _Materlactimenti_ works like that. It siphons the material from the caster's body, mostly from the digestive system, and then transfigures it all into a perfect replica of human produced milk. Absolutely genius," Selene said with happy satisfaction. "When I cast it, it's in no way different than it would've been if it had been my very own breast milk. When you cast it, it would be like, well, if you had breasts and --"

"Thank you, Selene, thank you very much, but I do not need that mental image," Harry stopped her.

She grinned. "You of course know all this, being the creator, but still. Absolutely brilliant," she said. "You really should publish it. I bet they could use it in St. Mungos and so forth."

"I'm sure they would, and no, I did not create the spell," the wizard answered, shaking his head and turning his attention to the meal. "You should go ahead and publish it, though, since you have the connections already," he added, not seeing the point of keeping the spell a secret, nor the point in trying to claim the credit for it. He wasn't good enough with spell creation to claim it and not look like a complete liar.

"You didn't create it? Yes, I did get the feeling that it was a spell made by a woman, more than by a man," Selene murmured, glancing down to Luna who was done with her scone - done with smearing most of it to her face, in any case. "Did your teacher create the spell?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, feeling a bit uneasy with the subject. "Can spells be published as non-profits?" he asked. "I'd rather not be named the creator," he added. "Since I'm not."

"Yes, of course. Most of your common healing spells came about like that," the woman mused, reaching to take a napkin with which she absently cleaned Luna's mouth and hands. "I have a friend in St. Mungos, I could see what we can do if you want to be anonymous."

"I'd like that," Harry nodded, wondering if the _Materlactimenti_ would inspire other woman to have children, like it had inspired Selene. Being the reason for a baby boom was a… little scary idea. He had to wonder, though, why such thing didn't happen anyway, after Voldemort's demise. All along history people had the habit of having more children when wars ended. Not with magical world, though.

He shook his head. It was something he could research in a few years once he was done with everything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Very unlikely to ever be continued past the 13 chapters written.  
> Proofread by Darlene and Spurio, thanks guys.


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